THE   LETTERS  OF 
VICTOR  HUGO 


THE  LETTERS  OF 


VICTOR  HUGO 


FROM    EXILE,    AND    AFTER    THE 
FALL   OF   THE   EMPIRE 


EDITED   BY 

PAUL  MEURICE 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


Copyright,  1898, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

Ml  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


NOTE. 

IN  this  translation  of  the  second  volume  of  the 
Letters  of  Victor  Hugo  some  letters  of  minor  interest 
have  been  omitted,  and  a  few  notes  have  been  given 
in  addition  to  those  supplied  by  the  French  editor. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

I.  LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  PERSONS.  —  JOURNEY  ON  THE  RHINE       1 
II.  THE  COUP  D'ETAT.  —  LETTERS  FROM  BRUSSELS   .        .        .55 

III.  LETTERS  FROM  EXILE 115 

IV.  AFTER  THE  FALL  OF  THE  EMPIRE  ....    235 


THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


I.   LETTERS  TO  VARIOUS  PERSONS.  —  JOURNEY  ON 
THE  RHINE. 

1836-1851.  :    ! ,,  » >    . 


I. 

To  MLLE.  LOUISE  BERTIN,  at  Les  Roches. 

MONT  SAINT-MICHEL,  27th  June,  1836. 

I  AM  writing  to  you,  mademoiselle,  from  Mont  Saint- 
Michel,  which  is  really  the  most  beautiful  spot  in  the 
world,  —  next  to  Bievre,  of  course.  Les  Roches  is 
lovely  and  charming ;  a  great  advantage  it  possesses 
over  the  forbidding  mass  of  dungeons,  towers,  and 
rocks  which  bears  the  name  of  Mont  Saint-Michel. 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  write  from  a  more  awe- 
inspiring  place  to  a  more  delightful  one.  At  this 
moment  I  am  hemmed  in  by  the  sea  which  surrounds 
the  mount.  It  must  be  horrible  in  winter,  with  its 
hurricanes,  tempests,  and  shipwrecks.  It  is  grand,  all 
the  same. 

What  a  strange  place  Mont  Saint-Michel  is !   Around, 

as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  infinite  space,  the  blue 

horizon  of   the  sea,  the   green   horizon   of   the  land, 

clouds,  air,  liberty,  birds  in  full  flight,  ships  with  all 

VOL.  n.          1 


2  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

sails  set,  and  then  all  at  once,  on  the  top  of  an  old 
wall  above  our  heads,  through  a  barred  window,  the 
pale  face  of  a  prisoner.  I  have  never  felt  so  strongly 
as  here  the  cruel  antithesis  which  man  sometimes  makes 
with  nature. 

You  can  have  none  of  these  sad  thoughts.  You  are 
happy  over  there;  happy  with  your  excellent  father, 
your  kind  relations ;  happy  in  the  view  of  your  beau- 
tiful valley  from  your  window ;  happy  in  the  prospect 
pf  your  great  .success. 

•.«*  I  shfl'lJ;  ib'e  'jA  Paris  between  the  10th  and  15th  of 
i£e  ;at  your  disposal,  and   ready  for  Notre- 

ctm'e?  'a'  'poof  plaster  statue  of  which  I  can  see  from 
the  casement  of  my  room,  perched  in  a  beautiful  trefoil 
niche  of  the  fifteenth  century. 

n. 

To  Louis  DE  MAYNARD,  at  Martinique. 

2m  May,  1837. 

We  are  still  expecting  you.  Your  kind  and  charm- 
ing letter  told  us  you  were  soon  returning ;  we  were 
all  looking  forward  to  it,  and  you  have  not  yet  ar- 
rived ! 

We  want  you  badly  here;  we  want  you  for  our- 
selves, because  we  love  you,  and  for  my  part  because 
your  generous  and  loyal  friendship  was  one  of  the  real 
joys  of  my  life  ;  then  we  want  you  for  your  own  sake, 
because  here,  I  am  sure,  you  would  write  us  a  fine  book. 
We  want  you  for  the  ideas  which  you  would  promote 
for  art,  which  has  so  few  followers  like  yourself ;  we 
want  you  because  a  noble,  honest  face  like  yours,  erect 

1  La  Esmeralda,  for  which  Mile.  Berlin  was  composing  the  music. 


TO  LOUIS  DE  MAYNARD.  3 

amid  so  many  drooping  and  sidelong  glances,  rests  the 
eye  and  consoles  the  heart. 

At  any  rate,  I  hope  you  are  doing  something  over 
there.  Make  up  for  your  absence  by  some  fine  work, 
your  natural  product.  Instead  of  the  great  human 
stage  which  you  had  here,  you  have  the  grand  spectacle 
of  nature ;  instead  of  the  strife  of  ideas,  you  have  the 
placid  harmony  of  things ;  if  you  have  less  of  the 
world,  you  have  more  sunshine.  As  for  me,  I  continue 
my  task,  waters  much  troubled,  as  you  know,  by  the 
stones  thrown  into  them ;  I  work,  I  study,  I  have 
three  plays  in  my  head,  —  you  shall  see  one  some  of 
these  days,  —  and  then  occasionally  I  write  poetry. 

Our  politics  are  still  mean  and  petty,  you  remember ; 
they  have  not  improved  since  you  left  us.  Small  men 
working  at  a  small  idea,  very  little  busy  about  nothing. 

Altogether,  there  are  times  when  I  envy  you,  —  you 
a  poet  exiled  in  a  sunny  land,  an  exile  which  Ovid 
would  have  loved,  in  that  beautiful  Martinique  which 
you  have  described  so  admirably. 

My  fraternal  love  to  you. 

in. 

To   A  WORKINGMAN   AND   POET. 

PARIS,  3d  October,  1837. 

Be  proud  of  your  title  of  workman.  We  are  all 
workmen,  God  included,  and  in  your  case  the  brain 
works  still  more  than  the  hands. 

The  generous  class  to  which  you  belong  has  a  great 
future  in  store  for  it,  but  it  must  give  the  fruit  time  to 
ripen.  This  class,  so  noble  and  so  useful,  should  eschew 
what  makes  little  and  seek  what  makes  great ;  it  should 


4  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

try  to  discover  reasons  for  love  rather  than  pretexts  for 
\  hatred ;  it  should  learn  to  respect  women  and  children  ; 
it  should  read  and  study  in  its  leisure  moments ;  it 
should  develop  its  intelligence,  and  it  will  achieve  suc- 
cess. I  have  said  in  one  of  my  works  :  The  day  when 
the  people  'becomes  intelligent,  it  will  rule.  In  other 
words,  civilization  is  the  paramount  thing.  Sometimes 
it  rules  through  one  man,  as  with  the  popes ;  sometimes 
through  more  than  one,  as  with  the  senates;  some- 
times through  all,  as  will  be  the  case  with  the  people. 
Patience,  therefore.  Let  us  understand  what  exists, 
to  be  worthy  of  existence  some  day.  Let  the  people 
work,  for  we  all  work.  Let  it  love  us,  for  we  love  it. 
Let  it  not  disturb  the  young  plant,  barely  sown,  if  it 
wishes  to  enjoy  shade  and  fruit  in  the  future. 

I  am  sure  that  all  these  ideas  are  yours  as  well. 
Impress  them  on  the  people,  of  which  your  intelligence 
makes  you  one  of  the  natural  leaders.  Instead  of  sim- 
ply thanking  you  for  your  excellent  verses,  so  flattering 
to  me,  I  have  indulged  in  this  serious  conversation. 
You  will,  I  imagine,  accept  it  as  I  offer  it,  as  a  token 
of  sympathy  and  esteem. 

IV. 

To  VICTOR  PAVIE. 

28th  November,  1837. 

You  are  quite  right  to  continue  to  think  a  little  of 
your  friends  in  the  Place  Royale.  You  are  loved  here, 
—  loved,  do  you  understand  ?  —  and  with  all  our  hearts. 
You  know,  my  dear  Pa  vie,  that  friendship  is  a  religion 
to  me.  And  besides,  who  can  be  a  better  friend  than 
you  ?  My  wife  and  I  often  say  this  to  each  other  in  the 


TO  LAMARTINE.  5 

winter  evenings,  when  we  think  of  the  many  false  faces 
which  have  betrayed  us.  A  friend  such  as  you  are  is  a 
good  and  noble  thing. 

Here  I  am  troubled  by  worries,  legal  business,1  law- 
yers, and  annoyances  of  every  description.  You  must 
have  seen  something  of  this  'in  the  papers ;  but  what 
they  do  not  tell  you  is  that  my  thoughts  are  very  often 
with  you  amidst  all  the  whirl. 

David  has  given  you  my  bust.  I  congratulate  it ;  it 
will  henceforth  be  present  at  your  intimate  conversation 
and  family  talks  ;  I  envy  it. 

Amid  the  tumult  which  my  enemies  raise  around  me, 
I  have  built  up  a  little  sanctuary  into  which  I  gaze 
unceasingly.  In  it  are  my  wife  and  my  children,  the 
sweet  and  happy  side  of  my  existence. 

Do  come  and  see  us  this  winter.  Bring  Theodore  ; 
bring  your  good  father.  I  do  not  say,  Bring  your  wife, 
for  when  I  am  speaking  to  you  I  naturally  include  her. 

v. 

To  LAMARTINE. 

14th  May,  1838. 

You  have  written  a  grand  poem,  my  friend.  La 
chute  d'un  ange  is  one  of  your  most  majestic  creations. 
What  will  be  the  edifice,  if  these  are  only  the  bas-reliefs  ! 
Never  has  the  breath  of  nature  more  deeply  penetrated 
and  more  amply  inspired  a  work  of  art,  from  the  base 
to  the  summit,  and  in  its  minutest  details. 

I  thank  you  for  the  happy  hours  which  I  have  just 
spent  closeted  with  your  genius.  I  fancy  that  I  have 
an  ear  for  your  voice.  Consequently  my  admiration  for 

1  Lawsuit  with  the  Comedie  Franfaise. 


6  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

you  comes  not  only  from  my  soul,  but  from  my  heart ; 
for  with  a  poet  like  you,  to  create  is  to  charm,  and  with 
a  listener  like  me,  to  admire  is  to  love. 
Yours  ex  imo  pectore. 

VI. 

To  M.  VEDEL,  Manager  of  the  Comedie  Frangaise. 

MONTMIRAIL,  20^  August,  1838. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  According  to  the  terms  of  the  judg- 
ment given  in  the  suit  between  me  and  the  Comedie 
Fran$aise,  and  confirmed  by  decree,  the  Comedie  was 
to  play  Angela  a  certain  number  of  times  between  the 
20th  of  November,  1837,  and  the  20th  of  April,  1838, 
under  a  penalty  of  fifty  francs  damages  for  every  day  of 
delay.  At  the  present  date,  August  the  20th,  the  num- 
ber of  performances  has  not  been  completed,  and  the 
result  is  that  at  this  moment  the  Comedie  Franpaise 
is  indebted  to  me  in  the  sum  of  eighteen  thousand 
francs.  However,  I  see  no  reason  for  altering  the 
decision  which  led  me  to  remit  the  sum  of  two  thousand 
four  hundred  francs  owing  to  me  by  the  Comedie  for 
delays  in  the  representation  of  Marion  de  Lorme.  I 
am  even  delighted  to  have  this  further  opportunity  of 
personally  acknowledging  the  amiability  and  good  taste 
of  which  you  have  given  me  more  than  one  proof  in 
our  recent  intercourse.  I  must  add  that  I  am  glad  to 
be  able  to  convey  my  thanks  also  to  those  actors  of  the 
Comedie  Fran$aise  who  have  assisted  me  with  so  much 
zeal  and  talent.  Be  so  good  then,  dear  sir,  as  to  inform 
the  Comedie  that  I  give  it  a  free  and  full  discharge  of 
the  sum  of  eighteen  thousand  francs  which  it  now  owes 
me.  VICTOR  HUGO. 


TO  M.  ETCHEVERRY. 


VII. 

To  M.  ETCHEVERBY,  at  the  Ecoles  newspaper  office. 

27th  February,  1839. 

...  I  read  your  Gazette  des  Ecoles  with  great  in- 
terest. In  this  paper,  as  in  everything  that  comes  from 
the  rising  generation,  there  is  something  noble  and 
honest  which  expands  the  heart. 

Courage,  gentlemen,  courage !  you  belong  to  the 
generation  which  owns  the  future.  You  wih1  do  great 
things.  In  politics  you  wih1  finish  the  rough  sketches ; 
in  literature  you  will  carry  on  the  work.  For  a  long 
time  past  in  all  my  writings  I  have  striven  to  hasten 
the  day  when  social  questions  will  be  substituted  for 
political  ones ;  when,  between  the  party  of  reaction  and 
that  of  revolution,  there  will  arise  the  party  of  civiliza- 
tion. That  day  will  be  yours ;  that  party  will  consist 
of  you. 

In  spite  of  all  that  is  said,  the  age  in  which  we  live 
is  a  grand  one.  At  no  other  time  have  art  and  thought 
soared  so  high.  On  all  sides  there  are  great  begin- 
nings of  everything.  Congratulate  yourselves,  for  you 
will  have  many  a  sacred  task  to  accomplish.  As  for 
me,  I  view  the  innumerable  questions  which  are  rising 
in  every  quarter  without  anxiety,  f or  I  Jpresee_J;he 
genius  of  the  coming  age,  and  I  know  that  you  will 
have  plenty  of  solutions  to  offer. 


8  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

VIII. 
To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Tuesday,  27th  August,  1839. 

I  have  finished  my  third  act,1  dearest.  It  is  almost 
as  long  as  the  first,  so  that  my  play  is  already  as  long 
as  an  ordinary  one. 

I  am  feeling  so  unwell,  and  the  loneliness  of  the 
house  is  so  unbearable  to  me,  that  I  am  going  away. 
I  shall  write  my  last  act  when  I  return.  It  will  be  no 
loss,  for  I  am  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  if  I  were  to 
go  on  working  now  I  believe  I  should  fall  ill.  When 
I  come  back  I  shall  be  set  up  again,  and  I  shall  finish 
it  in  a  week.  So  all  is  for  the  best. 

I  hope  you  have  had  a  good  and  pleasant  journey. 
I  fancy  I  can  see  you  comfortably  settled  in  my  kind 
friend  Vacquerie's  house.  Take  a  good  rest,  my  Adele, 
enjoy  yourself,  and  tell  all  my  little  darlings  to  have 
plenty  of  fun,  and  to  be  very  happy.  I  am  always 
thinking  of  you  all,  and  I  pray  God  to  keep  you 
happy. 

I  hope,  also,  that  Charles  and  Toto  are  working  hard, 
as  they  are  bound  to  do,  as  befits  those  who  have  gained 
a  prize. 

Kiss  my  beloved  Didine,  my  good  little  Dede,  my 
dear  little  Toto,  and  my  dear  old  Charlie,  and  my  fond- 
est love  to  yourself.  I  love  you. 

Your  own  VICTOR. 

1  Of  the  play  Les  Jumeaux,  which  was  never  finished. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  9 

IX. 

To  JULES  LACROix.1 

Uth  April,  1840. 

You  are  perfectly  right,  dear  poet ;  make  the  trans- 
lation homogeneous.  In  the  French  language  there  is 
a  great  gulf  between  prose  and  poetry ;  in  English 
there  is  hardly  any  difference.  It  is  a  splendid  privi- 
lege of  the  great  literary  languages  —  Greek,  Latin, 
and  French  —  that  they  possess  a  prose.  English  has 
not  this  privilege.  There  is  no  prose  in  English.  The 
genius  of  the  two  languages  is,  therefore,  completely 
different  in  this  respect.  What  Shakespeare  was  able 
to  do  in  English  he  would  certainly  not  have  done  in 
French.  So  obey  your  excellent  poetical  instinct ;  do 
in  French  what  Shakespeare  would  have  done,  what 
Corneille  and  Moliere  have  done,  write  homogeneous 
pieces. 

That  is  my  advice.  And,  next,  I  am  devotedly  at- 
tached to  you. 


To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO,  at  Saint-Prix. 

PARIS,  31st  July,  1840. 

I  send  you  a  very  good  piece  of  news,  dearest,  as 
quickly  as  possible.  Charles 2  has  gained  the  first  prize 
for  an  essay  in  the  open  competition.  M.  Jauffret  gave 
it  out  this  morning  before  all  his  class  in  the  college. 

1  Jules  Lacroix,  who  translated  several  of  Shakespeare's  plays  into 
French  verse,  had  asked  Victor  Hugo  if  it  would  be  better  to  translate 
Shakespeare  entirely  into  Alexandrine  verse,  or  to  mix  up  prose  and  verse 
as  in  the  English  text. 

2  Charles  Hugo,  eldest  sou  of  the  poet. 


10  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

When  he  came  to  Charles's  name  the  whole  class  burst 
forth  ;  there  were  three  rounds  of  applause.  The  dear 
boy  is  very  happy.  I  have  seen  him  twice  to-day,  as 
well  as  M.  Poirson l  and  M.  Jauffret.  Are  you  not  also 
delighted  ?  Kiss  our  dear  little  girls  for  me.  I  love 
you  fondly,  my  Adele. 

Here  is  the  letter  I  received  from  M.  Poirson :  — 

I  wish  to  congratulate  you  to-day,  dear  sir,  and  to 
sympathize  with  your  paternal  joy  and  pride.  There 
have  been  many  more  glorious  and  more  intoxicating 
moments  in  your  life,  but  can  there  have  been  a  hap- 
pier one  ?  A.  POIRSON. 

XI. 

To  MMTC.  VICTOR  HUGO,  at  Saint-Prix. 

PARIS,  29th  August,  noon  [1840]. 

I  am  off  in  a  few  minutes,  dear  Adele,  and  I  am 
writing  to  you  as  I  promised.  I  am  in  low  spirits.  I 
love  you  dearly,  darling,  and  at  this  moment  I  wish 
you  could  know  how  tenderly  I  think  of  you  all,  my 
beloved  ones. 

I  am  going  via  Soissons,  as  I  did  last  year.  I  notice 
that  it  is  always  easier  to  get  places  for  the  North  than 
for  the  South. 

Tell  my  Charles  and  my  Toto  that  I  shall  be  very 
pleased  with  them  if  they  work  hard. 

I  will  write  to  you  from  my  first  stopping-place.  My 
fondest  love  to  you  all,  my  Didine,  my  Dede,  my  little 
prizemen,  and  my  kindest  regards  to  your  dear  father. 

Love  me,  my  Adele,  and  think  a  little  of  me. 

1  Headmaster  of  the  College  Charlemagne. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  11 

XII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

NAMUR,  2d  September,  1840. 

I  am  at  Namur,  dearest,  and  I  am  sending  you  the 
first  pages  of  my  diary.  In  future  I  will  send  it  you 
in  this  form,  for  in  this  way  I  shall  be  able  to  keep 
apart,  as  you  wish,  what  concerns  the  journey  and 
what  concerns  us.  It  will  therefore  be  a  diary  l  pure 
and  simple,  to  which  I  will  always  add  a  letter  to 
you.  I  am  starting  for  Liege,  and  from  there  I  go  to 
Cologne. 

I  think  of  you  all  very  tenderly,  and  of  you,  my 
Adele.  I  hope  you  are  all  well  at  Saint-Prix,  and  that 
the  fine  air  and  lovely  country  are  doing  your  dear 
father  as  much  good  as  ever. 

I  beg  my  dear  children  and  you  to  write  me  really 
nice  long  letters.  I  need  them  more  than  ever  when  I 
am  traveling.  Nature  is  charming,  but  family  affec- 
tion is  still  more  so. 

Do  not  let  any  one  but  members  of  the  family  read 
this  diary  of  mine.  I  shall  be  delighted  if  it  amuses 
and  interests  you  and  your  father  a  little.  If  by  chance 
there  is  any  one  not  of  the  family  at  Saint-Prix,  even 
an  intimate  friend,  I  beg  you  not  to  let  him  read  the 
diary.  I  have  already  pointed  out  to  you  the  danger 
of  so  doing.  Good-by,  dearest ;  my  very  best  love  to 
you  all,  my  dear  ones ;  I  think  only  of  you. 

1  This  diary  was  intended  to  form,  and  eventually  did  form,  the  book 
called  Le  Rhin. 


12  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XIII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

ST.  GOAR,  15^  September,  1840. 

I  am  continuing  my  journey  up  the  Rhine  slowly,  as 
you  see,  dearest.  Here  is  the  continuation  of  my  diary. 
I  try  to  see  everything,  so  as  to  have  a  complete  and 
distinct  idea  of  this  beautiful  country. 

I  cannot  remember  the  date  of  Marie  de  Medici's 
death,  nor  that  of  Rubens'  birth.  Your  father  is  sure 
to  know  them.  Ask  him  to  fill  in  the  spaces  I  have 
left  blank.  If  he  were  with  me,  which  would  be  a 
delight  to  me,  I  should  not  leave  any. 

I  have  made  a  sketch  of  Andernach  for  my  little 
Didine,  but  it  is  too  large  to  go  into  a  letter.  It  would 
have  to  be  folded.  I  am  keeping  it  in  my  album  to 
give  you  in  Paris,  my  darling  Didine.  I  have  left 
Andernach,  and  am  now  at  St.  Goar,  a  wonderful 
place,  of  which  I  will  send  you  a  drawing  of  some  sort. 

I  travel  slowly  because  I  must  do  so,  and  yet  I  am 
sorry  to  do  so,  for  I  long  to  reach  Mayence,  where  your 
letters  are  awaiting  me,  my  dearest  Adele,  my  darling 
children ;  I  hope  they  will  bring  me  only  what  is  sweet 
and  good.  I  am  always  thinking  tenderly  of  you  ;  you 
are  with  me  everywhere,  in  my  expeditions  and  in  my 
work. 

Good-by,  dearest ;  good-by,  my  Adele.  Think  of  me 
and  love  me.  I  will  soon  write  again.  Go  on  writing 
to  Mayence.  I  will  write  to  you  all  from  Mayence, 
for  I  hope  you  will  all  have  written  to  me.  Fondest 
love  to  you,  and  also  to  your  kind  father.  Kisses  for 
you,  dearest,  for  you,  my  Didine,  for  you,  my  Charles, 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  13 

to  you  both,  my  Toto  and  Dede.     You  must  all  think 
of  your  father,  who  loves  you  so  dearly. 

XIV. 

•  To  THE  SAME.    ; 

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE,  2,5th  September,  1840. 

I  think,  dearest,  you  must  have  already  received  the 
first  twelve  pages  of  my  diary.  I  am  now  sending  you 
the  next  installment,  hoping  greatly  that  it  may  interest 
you  all  a  little.  I  am  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  I  leave 
for  Cologne  to-morrow.  From  there  I  intend  to  go  up 
the  Rhine  as  far  as  possible.  In  a  few  days  I  will  send 
you  the  account  of  my  journey  from  Liege  to  Aix-la- 
Chapelle.  Tell  Didine  1  to  follow  me  on  the  map.  I 
hope  to  get  good  news  of  you  all  at  Mayence,  for  I 
want  it  badly.  It  seems  an  age  since  I  left  you  all, 
and  I  feel  quite  sad  when  I  recall  my  poor  Toto's  tear- 
ful face  on  old  Bontemps'  doorstep. 

Work  well,  my  dear  children.  My  Charlie,  remem- 
ber you  are  now  among  the  clever  boys  of  the  fifth 
form.  You  also,  Toto,  will  soon  begin  your  school 
life;  you  must  do  it  with  credit.  Play  well,  too. 
Write  me  long  letters,  —  all  of  you,  mind,  —  my  beloved 
ones,  my  dear  little  Dede  included.  I  hope  her 
chicken,  her  pigeon,  her  kid,  her  cat,  and  her  rabbit 
will  not  keep  her  from  writing  to  her  papa.  I  beg  she 
will  work  well,  and  be  very  obedient  to  her  sister,  who 
is  a  sensible  girl.  I  do  not  mean  by  this  that  Dede  is 
not  a  good  child.  I  hope  her  dear  kind  mamma  is 
pleased  with  her. 

Tell  your  father,  my  Adele,  that  I  miss  him  every 

1  Ldopoldine,  Victor  Hugo's  eldest  daughter. 


14  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

moment  in  this  charming  journey,  in  which  everything 
would  interest  him ;  I  have  no  books  with  me  and  have 
to  rely  on  my  memory  only,  and  all  his  knowledge 
would  be  of  such  great  help  to  me  who  have  so  little. 

And  then  I  miss  you  all  as  well,  and  should  like  to 
have  you  close  to  me,  dear  faces  which  I  kiss  and  which 
I  love. 

xv. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BINGEN,  28th  September,  1840. 

Good-morning,  my  darling  Adele;  my  fondest  love 
to  you.  I  am  now  at  Bingen.  To-morrow  I  shall  be 
at  Mayence  and  I  shall  get  your  letters;  I  shall  get 
letters  from  all  of  you,  my  beloved  ones.  It  will  be 
like  seeing  you  all  again.  I  am  quite  joyful.  You 
and  the  others  must  write  to  Treves  in  future.  If  time 
allows,  I  think  of  writing  the  same  work  on  the  Moselle, 
a  beautiful  and  little  known  river,  that  I  am  now  finish- 
ing on  the  Rhine.  • 

"  On  the  14th  of  September  M.  Jules  Janin,  au- 
thor, and  M.  Victor  Hugo,  id.,  passed  through  Bin- 
gen,"  —  the  names  are  entered  there  in  the  visitors' 
book  of  the  Victoria  Hotel,  by  Jules  Janin  himself, 
whose  handwriting  I  think  I  recognized.  M.  Victor 
Hugo,  the  landlord  informs  me,  did  not  look  very  like 
his  portraits,  and  had  mustaches.  The  two  gentlemen 
were  in  high  spirits,  and  had  three  charming  ladies 
with  them.  They  made  all  the  excursions  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Their  arrival  upset  the  whole  town.  They 
were  very  good  fellows,  however.  The  landlord  asked 
me  if  I  knew  them.  I  said  yes,  slightly,  but  only  by 
name.  Now  strangers  are  shown  their  names  written 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  15 

in  the  visitors'  book.  It  has  made  quite  a  stir  in  the 
little  Roman  town  of  Bingen,  which,  however,  was  once 
visited  by  Charlemagne.  As  for  me,  I  travel  quite  in- 
cognito and  unrecognized,  and  I  am  glad  of  it. 

I  hope  to  find  nice  letters  from  everybody  at  May- 
ence,  and  to  hear  that  you  are  all  well,  and  that  the 
holidays,  which,  alas !  are  drawing  to  a  close,  have  been 
well  spent  in  much  pleasure  and  a  little  work. 

My  darling  Dede,  just  now  I  hear  a  little  girl  of 
your  age  chattering  in  the  room  next  mine,  who  re- 
minds me  of  you,  dear  child.  Be  very  good  to  your 
mother,  your  sister,  and  your  brother,  and  your  daddy 
will  love  you  very  much. 

My  Didine,  my  Charles,  my  To  to,  I  will  write  to 
each  of  you  from  Mayence,  where  I  shall  find  all  your 
letters.  I  send  you  all  a  thousand  kisses,  as  well  as  to 
your  dear  mother,  my  children,  my  joy,  my  life.  Think 
of  me,  and  pray  for  me  night  and  morning.  You  are 
continually  in  my  thoughts. 

My  kind  regards  to  your  good  father.  I  hope  all 
my  scribblings  amuse  and  interest  him,  and  that  he  will 
correct  me  when  necessary. 

One  more  kiss  for  you,  dearest.  You  see  there  is 
room  for  it. 

XVI. 
To  THE  SAME. 

MAYENCE,  1st  October,  1840. 

I  ought  to  scold  you,  dearest,  for  having  written  me 
such  a  short  letter.  But  as  it  was  gentle  and  loving,  I 
forgive  you  this  time,  on  condition  that  it  does  not 
occur  again,  and  that  you  will  at  any  rate  write  me  a 
good  long  letter  to  Treves.  You  ought  to  understand 


16  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

that,  after  an  absence  which  already  seems  very  long 
to  me,  I  want  to  hear  a  little  of  what  is  going  on  in 
Paris,  or  at  all  events  at  Saint-Prix.  So  write  to  me 
everything  you  hear  about  everything  that  you  know 
will  interest  me.  I  believe  some  of  our  friends  go  to 
see  you  at  Saint-Prix.  Eepeat  to  me  what  they  tell 
you.  Here  are  letters  for  all  the  children,  for  Julie, 
and  for  your  good  father.  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to 
me  to  hear  that  Julie  was  quite  well. 

Have  you  seen  Mme.  Menessier-Nodier  ?  Have  you 
even  written  to  her  ?  Have  you  asked  her  to  the 
house  ?  Do  not  forget,  dearest,  to  pay  some  attentions 
in  that  quarter;  they  are  friends  of  seventeen  years' 
standing. 

I  am  going  to  see  Mannheim,  Heidelberg,  and  Frank- 
fort ;  then,  if  the  weather  holds  up,  I  shall  come  down 
the  Rhine  and  follow  the  course  of  the  Moselle,  as  I 
have  already  told  you.  My  next  letter  will  bring  you 
the  continuation  of  my  diary. 

Here  are  a  lot  of  drawings  for  the  children.  I  have 
tried  to  divide  them  equally.  Each  child  has  an  equal 
share  of  my  heart. 

I  have  been  to  Bingen,  Rudesheim,  the  famous  Rat 
Tower.  Just  now  I  am  exploring  Mayence,  a  most 
interesting  place.  This  journey  will  have  been  of  great 
use  to  me,  —  and,  I  hope,  to  you  all. 

In  conclusion,  dearest,  I  remind  you  once  more  how 
much  I  hope  to  find  at  least  one  nice  long  letter  from 
you  at  Treves.  Tell  me  if  my  diary  interests  you. 
You  know  that  you  and  my  beloved  children  are  the 
sole  object  of  my  work  in  this  world.  Some  day  I 
shall  leave  you  all  the  edifice  that  I  shall  have  built. 


TO  TOTO.  17 

I  hope  that  my  name  will  be  a  tower  of  strength  to  my 
children. 

So  write  to  me  soon  and  often,  my  darling  Adele. 
I  shall  love  you  the  more. 

Your  dear  old  HUSBAND. 

XVII. 

To  TOTO. 

MAYENCE,  1st  October,  1840. 

Here,  my  dear  little  Toto,  is  a  sketch  I  have  done 
for  you.  I  am  sending  it  directly  after  having  read 
your  nice  dear  little  letter.  A  month  hence,  my  dar- 
ling, you  will  see  your  father  again,  and  that  will  be  as 
happy  a  day  for  him  as  for  you. 

When  this  letter  reaches  you,  your  holidays  will  be 
nearly  at  an  end.  You  and  my  Charlie  will  both  be 
returning  to  school,  and,  I  trust,  with  renewed  courage 
and  fresh  strength.  All  my  hopes  and  all  my  happi- 
ness are  centred  in  you,  my  dear  ones.  Your  dear 
mother  tells  me  she  is  satisfied  with  all  of  you.  Make 
her  as  happy  as  she  deserves,  she  who  loves  you  so 
much,  and  who,  like  me,  thinks  only  of  you  and  your 
happiness  in  this  world. 

The  child  is  father  to  the  man  ;  never  forget  this,  my 
little  Toto ;  be  an  industrious  scholar,  and  I  answer  for 
it  that  you  will  one  day  be  what  is  called  a  man,  vir. 

All  the  details  you  give  me  of  your  games  and  work 
have  greatly  interested  me.  When  you  have  received 
this  letter,  write  me  a  few  lines  to  Treves,  and  tell  me 
a  great  deal  more  about  yourself,  your  brother,  and  your 
sisters,  and  everything  at  home.  This  enables  me  to 
share  in  your  pleasures,  your  amusements,  your  daily 
VOL.  n.  2 


18  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

life  ;  and  I  imagine  that  I  am  among  you  all,  my  dar- 
ling children. 

I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  all  the  animals  belonging 
to  my  little  shepherdess  Dede  are  quite  well,  and  that 
you  have  finished  your  house  of  leaves  and  branches. 
Tell  Dede  that  she  must  write  me  rather  a  longer  letter 
than  the  first. 

As  for  me,  my  Toto,  you  will  see,  if  you  read  my 
letters  to  your  mother,  that  I  am  working,  and  that 
even  in  my  holidays  I  try  not  to  waste  my  time.  I  see 
beautiful  countries,  I  study  very  novel  and  very  curious 
things,  but  they  are  not  worth  your  kisses  and  ca- 
resses, nor  a  couple  of  hours  spent  among  you  all  at 
Saint-Prix. 

So,  my  dear  little  Toto,  go  back  to  school  bravely, 
work  well,  write  to  me,  please  your  mother  and  your 
masters,  and  remember  I  am  hardly  a  moment  without 
thinking  of  you.  Nothing  of  what  I  see  diverts  my 
mind  from  you,  my  children.  All  that  I  am  and  all 
that  I  do  in  this  world  is  for  you. 

I  love  you,  I  love  you  dearly,  my  little  Toto. 

XVIII. 

To  B^BANGEB. 

MAYENCE,  4th  October,  1840. 

I  am  at  Mayence,  a  place  which  has  been  French, 
which  will  become  French  again  one  day,  —  which  still 
is  so  in  heart  and  mind,  and  will  be  until  it  is  marked 
thus  on  the  map  by  the  red  or  blue  line  of  the  frontier. 
Just  now  I  was  at  my  window  overlooking  the  Rhine. 
I  was  listening  vaguely  to  the  noise  of  the  water-mills 
moored  to  the  old  sunken  piles  of  Charlemagne's 


TO  BERANGEK.  19 

bridge,  and  thinking  of  the  great  things  which  Na- 
poleon did  here,  when  from  a  neighboring  window  a 
woman's  voice,  a  sweet  voice,  wafted  me  snatches  of 
the  charming  lines  :  — 

"  J'aime  qu'un  russe  soit  russe, 
Et  qu'un  anglais  soit  anglais ; 
Si  Ton  est  prussien  en  Prusse, 
En  France,  soyons  frangais. 

Mes  amis  !  mes  amis ! 
Soyons  de  notre  pays ! 

Qui  s'e'criait  a  Pavie 

Tout  est  perdu  f ors  1'honneur  ? 

Consolons  par  ce  mot-la 
Ceux  que  le  nombre  accabla." 

These  noble  lines  of  yours,  heard  in  this  way  and 
in  this  spot,  touched  me  deeply.  I  send  you  the  frag- 
ments as  they  were  borne  to  me  on  the  breeze.  They 
brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  and  I  felt  irresistibly  im- 
pelled to  write  to  you.  My  heart  was  sad  in  a.  place 
where  a  Frenchman  ought  not  to  be  a  foreigner ;  where 

o  • — — © — J — 

a  white  soldier  and  a  blue  soldier,  i.  e.,  Austria  and 
Prussia,  mount  guard  in  front  of  the  citadel  defended 
in  '94  by  our  people  in  Mayence,  and  enlarged  by 
Napoleon  in  1807.  Your  lines  have  gladdened  my 
heart.  This  song  of  a  woman  is  the  protest  of  a  whole 
people.  I  thought  you  would  like  to  know  that  the 
Rhine  reechoes  with  your  voice,  and  that  the  town  of 
Frauenlob  sings  the  songs  of  Beranger. 

I  am  only  passing  through  Mayence,  but  I  am  taking 
a  deep  impression  away  with  me.  I  owe  this  to  you, 


20  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

and  I  thank  you  for  it.     Dear  great  poet,  I  am  your 
devoted  admirer. 

XIX. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

HEIDELBERG,  9th  October,  1840. 

Here,  dearest,  is  another  large  installment  of  my 
diary.  I  am  afraid  I  may  be  obliged  to  give  it  up ; 
for  what  with  traveling,  or  seeing  buildings,  or  studying 
in  libraries  in  the  daytime,  I  can  write  only  at  night. 
Sometimes  I  spend  the  whole  night  over  it,  and  my 
eyes  suffer  in  consequence.  Still,  as  I  fancy  it  inter- 
ests your  father,  and  amuses  you  all  a  little,  I  shall 
do  my  best  to  go  on  with  it.  Besides,  it  is  a  useful 
work,  inasmuch  as  a  number  of  local  things,  which  are 
in  danger  of  being  lost  or  obliterated,  are  recorded  in 
it  for  the  first  time.  Well,  I  shall  try  to  make  my 
eyes  serve  me,  though  I  cannot  be  very  sure  of  them. 
Your  father  will  find  in  this  letter  some  unpublished 
details  of  the  coronation  of  the  emperors  at  Frankfort, 
which  I  fancy  he  will  think  curious. 

I  have  calculated  that  you  ought  to  have  received 
my  last  letters  on  Sunday.  That  day  my  thoughts 
were  constantly  with  you  all,  my  beloved  ones.  Those 
of  you  who  did  not  care  for  their  drawings  have  only 
to  tell  me  so,  and  I  will  make  them  others  in  Paris. 

I  hope,  dearest,  that  all  is  still  going  on  well.  The 
rumors  of  war  which  penetrate  here  do  not,  I  think, 
reach  Saint-Prix. 

By  this  time  you  will  have  lost  Charlie  and  Toto. 
The  dear  children  have  doubtless  gone  back  to  M. 
Jauffret.  You  must  impress  on  them  from  me,  dear- 
est, that  I  expect  them  to  persevere  in  their  studies. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  21 

I  shall  set  to  work,  too,  on  my  return.  It  is  im- 
portant that  this  winter  should  be  a  productive  and 
fruitful  one  for  me,  and  I  hope  we  shall  both  succeed 
in  making  it  so,  you  by  economy  and  I  by  work. 

In  about  three  weeks  I  shall  see  you  all  again.  It 
will  be  a  happy  day  for  me,  and  for  you  also  I  hope, 
my  Adele. 

My  darling  Adele,  my  beloved  Didine,  remember  that 
I  expect  to  find  several  letters  from  you  both  at  Treves, 
and  that  I  must  have  them.  And  from  you  too,  my 
little  Dede.  If  Charlie  and  Toto  can  write  to  me,  in 
spite  of  their  lessons,  they  will  give  their  papa  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure.  I  hope,  also,  to  get  a  letter  from  your 
good  father,  to  whom  I  send  my  kindest  regards.  We 
shall  soon  meet  again,  my  darlings.  A  thousand  kisses 
to  you  all. 

XX. 

To  THE  SAME. 

STOCKART,  19th  October,  1840. 

I  am  writing  to  you,  dearest,  in  the  midst  of  the 
grandest  storm  imaginable.  I  am  in  the  Black  Forest, 
and  I  am  going  to  see  Schaffhausen  to  complete  my 
Ehine  tour.  I  inclose  the  beginning  of  a  letter  to 
Boulanger,1  whose  address  I  have  forgotten.  You  may 
all  read  it  at  Saint-Prix,  if  you  like ;  after  that,  put  the 
sheets  in  an  envelope  and  send  them  to  Louis. 

It  is  rainy  in  the  Moselle  country,  so  I  have  given 
up  going  there.  I  shall  return  to  Heidelberg  to  see 
the  interior  of  the  Black  Forest;  and  from  there  I 
shall  come  straight  into  France  by  Forbach.  Write 

•     *  An  artist  of  merit,  a  friend  of  Victor  Hugo. 


22  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

to  me  now  (and  pray  do  so,  dearest,  as  soon  as  you 
have  received  this)  a  nice  little  letter  to  Forbach,  poste 
restante  (France).  I  wrote  to  the  post-office  at  Treves 
to  have  all  your  letters  sent  on  there.  I  shall  find 
them  as  I  pass  through. 

In  a  few  days  you  will  receive  the  conclusion  of 
the  letter  to  Boulanger.  That  will  serve  as  a  sort  of 
continuation  of  my  diary  for  Heidelberg,  which  is  a 
delightful  spot. 

I  live  in  the  thoughts  of  you  all,  and  in  hopes  that 
everything  is  going  on  well  at  Saint-Prix.  I  hope  you 
are  in  good  health,  and  that  my  dear  children  give 
you  no  trouble. 

Just  now  I  am  passing  through  a  lovely  country. 
Before  long,  perhaps,  it  will  be  devastated  by  war. 
When  I  see  a  ruin  I  observe  it  carefully.  Perhaps  it 
will  be  used  as  a  military  position,  and  in  another  year 
I  should  not  be  able  to  recognize  it. 

My  eyes  still  give  me  trouble ;  but  I  spare  them. 
I  must  do  so,  for  they  will  have  to  work  this  winter. 

A  few  more  days,  and  then  I  shall  embrace  you,  my 
Adele.  I  hope  by  the  1st  of  November  I  shall  have 
that  happiness. 

Please  write  me  a  long  letter  to  Forbach,  and  give 
me  the  latest  news  of  you  all.  If  you  only  knew  how 
I  long  for  it !  Farewell,  my  beloved ;  that  is  to  say, 
good-by  for  the  present  only. 

When  you  see  them,  kiss  my  two  dear  little  school- 
boys, Charlie  and  Toto,  for  me. 


TO  SAVINIEN  LAPOINTE.  23 

XXI. 

To  CHATEAUBRIAND. 

December,  1840. 

Five  and  twenty  years  have  passed,  and  there  remain 
only  great  things  and  two  great  men,  Napoleon  and 
Chateaubriand.  Permit  me  to  lay  these  lines 1  at  your 
feet.  You  have  long  ago  made  peace  with  the  illustri- 
ous shade  who  inspired  them. 

Let  me  offer  them  to  you  as  a  fresh  token  of  my  old 
and  profound  admiration. 

XXII. 

To  SAVINIEN  LAPOINTE. 2 

March,  1841. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  If  your  lines  were  only  beautiful,  I 
might  perhaps  be  less  moved  by  them,  but  they  are 
noble  ones.  I  am  more  than  charmed,  —  I  am  touched. 
Continue  your  twofold  office,  your  task  as  a  workman, 
and  your  mission  as  a  thinker.  You  speak  to  the  peo- 
ple as  one  of  themselves,  others  address  them  from  an 
elevation ;  your  eloquence  is  not  the  least  efficacious ; 
your  lot  is  a  good  one,  believe  me. 

Courage,  then,  and  patience !  Courage  for  the  great 
sorrows  of  life,  and  patience  for  the  small  ones.  And 
then  when  you  have  laboriously  accomplished  your 
daily  task,  go  to  sleep  in  peace.  God  is  awake. 

I  believe  in  God,  and  I  believe  in  humanity.  God 
sets  a  goal  at  the  end  of  every  path.  All  we  have  to 
do  is  to  advance. 

1  Le  retour  de  Vempereur. 

2  Savinien  Lapointe  was  a  shoemaker  and  a  poet. 


24  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Always  follow  the  grave  and  mysterious  monitions 
of  your  conscience.  I  have  said  in  one  of  my  works, 
and  I  think  it  more  than  ever  :  The  poet  has  the  care 
of  souls.  In  the  profound  darkness  which  still  en- 
velops so  many  minds,  men  like  you  among  the  people 
are  the  torches  which  light  the  work  of  others.  En- 
deavor to  increase  unceasingly  the  quantity  and  the 
purity  of  your  light. 

XXIII. 

To  CHARLES  DE  LACRETELLE. 

PARIS,  Wth  June,  1841. 

I  have  just  left,  my  venerable  friend,  the  first  private 
meeting  of  the  Academy  at  which  I  have  been  present, 
and  I  find  your  letter  on  my  return.  I  will  not  delay 
a  moment  in  answering  it.  It  charms  me  as  everything 
does  which  comes  from  you.  You  know  how  to  impart 
your  feelings  to  your  style.  Everything  you  write  has 
a  fragrance  of  the  soul. 

I  am  glad  that  my  speech  *  is  so  highly  thought  of 
at  Bel- Air.  It  represents  simply  the  honest  convictions 
of  a  man  who  has  no  personal  interest  in  the  questions 
of  the  day,  who  is  devoted  above  all  things  to  civiliza- 
tion, to  thought,  and  to  his  country.  To  have  found 
an  echo  in  your  heart  is  glory  for  me. 

Go  on,  my  dear  good  colleague,  love  those  who  love 
you,  and  write  for  those  who  understand  you. 

1  His  speech  on  the  occasion  of  his  reception  by  the  Academy. 


TO  ALPHONSE  KARR.  25 

xxrv. 

To  ALPHONSE  KARR. 

20^  June,  1841. 

MY  DEAR  ALPHONSE  KARR,1  —  You  are  poetry  in- 
carnate which  complains  of  a  poet  and  is  right. 

I,  on  my  side,  am  not  wrong.  I  have  something  of 
the  poet,  but  a  great  deal  of  the  soldier.  As  you 
remark  so  wittily,  Salvandy's  speech  was  emptied  over 
my  head,  but  after  all,  I  have  got  the  seat !  and  you 
are  there  too,  and  so  are  all  my  ideas  and  yours. 

After  all,  the  Academy  has  been  a  great  institution, 
and  can  and  should  become  so  again,  thanks  to  all  the 
thoughtful  and  promising  men  of  whom  I  am  but  the 
henchman,  thanks  to  the  real  poets  and  the  genuine 
writers.  It  contains,  even  at  the  present  moment, 
worthy  men  who  love  you  and  who  will  welcome  you  ; 
Academies,  like  everything  else,  will  belong  to  the 
coming  generation. 

In  the  mean  while,  I  am  the  living  gap  by  which 
these  ideas  enter  to-day,  and  through  which  these  men 
will  pass  to-morrow. 

That,  I  can  imagine,  is  of  small  importance  to  you 
just  now,  who  are  living  face  to  face  with  the  ocean, 
with  nature,  and  with  God ;  but  fall  back  towards  us  a 
little ;  turn  your  thoughts  from  great  Etretat  to  little 
Paris  ;  don't  you  think  that  we  must  be  somewhat  tired 
of  being  governed  in  literature  by  M.  Eoger,  and  in 
politics  by  M.  Fulchiron  ? 

I  too  love  you,  and  most  sincerely,  for  you  have  a 
noble  heart  and  a  noble  mind. 

1  In  Les  Guepes  Alphonse  Karr  had  blamed  Victor  Hugo  for  wishing 
to  get  into  the  Academy. 


26  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Scold  Gatayes  for  me ;  he  has  been  of  infinite  service 
to  me,  and  now  neglects  me,  ungrateful  man ! 

xxv. 

To  PIERRE  VIN^ARD. 

2d  July,  1841. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  As  you  do  me  the  honor  of  sending 
me  your  article,1  I  take  it  as  a  letter,  and  answer  it.  I 
did  not  say  "  la  populace  ;  "  I  said  "  les  populaces" 
This  plural  is  of  importance  :  there  is  a  gilded  populace 
as  well  as  a  ragged  one  ;  there  is  a  populace  in  drawing- 
rooms  as  well  as  in  the  streets. 

In  every  stratum  of  society,  the  working,  the  think- 
ing, the  helpful  element,  that  which  aspires  to  good- 
ness, justice,  and  truth,  constitutes  the  people ;  that 
which  is  sunk  in  voluntary  stagnation,  which  is  igno- 
rant from  laziness,  which  does  wrong  willingly,  is  the 
populace. 

In  the  upper  ranks,  selfishness  and  idleness ;  in  the 
lower  ones,  envy  and  sloth,  —  that  is  the  life  of  the 
populace ;  and,  I  repeat  it,  there  is  a  populace  in  the 
upper  ranks  as  well  as  the  lower  ones.  I  therefore  said 
that  we  must  love  the  people ;  a  more  severe  moralist 
might  perhaps  have  added,  and  hate  the  populace.  I 
confined  myself  to  despising  it. 

But,  dear  sir,  I  do  not  despise  the  complaint  of  a 
sterling  and  honest  man,  even  when  it  is  ill-founded; 
I  try  to  enlighten  him ;  it  is  a  sacred  duty  for  me. 
You  see  that  I  endeavor  to  discharge  it. 

1  The  subject  of  the  article  was  Victor  Hugo's  speech  on  his  reception 
into  the  Academy. 


TO  THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ARCHIVES  ISRAELITES.     27 

XXVI. 

To  THE  KEEPER  OF  THE  ARCHIVES  ISRAELITES.1 

SAINT-MANDE,  11$  June,  1843. 

You  have  misunderstood  me,  dear  sir,  and  I  greatly 
regret  it,  for  it  would  be  a  real  grief  to  me  to  have 
pained  a  man  like  you,  of  so  much  worth,  learning,  and 
character.  The  dramatic  poet  is  also  a  historian,  and 
he  can  no  more  alter  history  than  human  nature.  Now 
the  thirteenth  century  is  a  period  of  twilight ;  it  has 
deep  shadows,  very  little  light,  violence,  crime,  innumer- 
able superstitions,  and  great  barbarousness,  everywhere. 
The  Jews  were  barbarous,  so  were  the  Christians ;  the 
Christians  were  the  oppressors,  the  Jews  were  the 
oppressed;  the  Jews  retaliated.  What  else  could  be 
expected  ?  It  is  the  natural  action  of  every  compressed 
spring  and  oppressed  people.  The  Jews  therefore  re- 
venged themselves  in  secret;  legend  or  history,  the 
story  of  the  little  Saint-Werner  child  proves  it.  Rumor, 
however,  was  worse  than  the  truth ;  popular  report 
exaggerated  the  facts  ;  hatred  invented  and  slandered, 
as  it  always  does ;  this  is  probable,  indeed,  certain, 
but  what  is  to  be  done  ?  One  must  describe  periods  as 
they  were  :  they  were  superstitious,  credulous,  ignorant, 
barbarous ;  one  must  follow  their  superstitions,  their 
credulity,  their  ignorance,  their  barbarousness.  The 
poet  cannot  help  it;  he  simply  says  :  It  is  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  this  hint  should  be  enough. 

Is  that  equivalent  to  saying  that  in  the  present  day 
Jews  kill  and  eat  little  children  ?  Why,  dear  sir,  in 

1  About  the  play  of  Les  Bur  graves,  in  which  there  is  mention  of  a  child 
which  the  Jews  are  supposed  to  have  stolen  to  kill  on  their  Sabbath. 


28  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

these  days  Jews  like  you  are  full  of  learning  and  en- 
lightenment, and  Christians  like  me  are  full  of  esteem 
and  regard  for  Jews  like  you.  So  extend  your  forgive- 
ness to  Les  Burgraves,  dear  sir,  and  accept  my  sincere 
regards. 

XXVII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO,  at  Havre. 

PARIS,  Tuesday,  18th  July,  1843. 

I  did  right,  dearest,  in  leaving  Havre  last  Monday, 
for  the  bills  were  already  overdue,  and  I  had  great 
difficulty  in  getting  my  money.  I  was  obliged  to  put 
off  my  departure,  and  I  spent  a  week  in  most  tiresome 
negotiations.  At  last  I  have  succeeded,  and  I  am  free 
to  start,  which  I  shall  do  at  once. 

None  the  less  I  am  truly  sad  when  I  think  of  the 
week  which  I  might  have  spent  with  you,  my  beloved 
Adele,  in  the  midst  of  my  dear  little  colony  at  Havre, 
and  which  I  was  obliged  to  sacrifice  to  this  paltry  sum 
of  six  or  seven  hundred  francs.  The  small  annoyances 
of  life  are  often  real  troubles.  And  this  is  one  of 
them. 

I  was  so  happy  all  that  day  I  spent  at  Havre  !  —  so 
completely  and  perfectly  happy  !  I  saw  you  all  full 
of  beauty,  life,  joy,  and  health  !  *  I  felt  I  was  loved 
in  that  radiant  circle.  You  looked  your  very  best,  and 
were  kind,  sweet,  and  charming  to  me.  My  warmest 
thanks  to  you  for  it. 

I  have  been  seeing  Charlie  almost  every  day  this 
week.  I  shall  see  him  again  shortly.  He  is  just  now 
in  for  his  examination  (Latin  prose),  which  he  entered 

1  Victor  Hugo  was  never  to  see  his  daughter  Ldopoldine  again;  she 
was  drowned  at  Villequier,  while  he  was  traveling. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  29 

as  head  of  his  class.  I  am  very  pleased  with  him.  We 
spent  Sunday  together  at  Mme.  de  Villeneuve's,  who 
was  delightful,  and  spoke  of  you  in  the  warmest  and 
most  feeling  manner.  It  was  the  fete  of  Maisons. 
Charles  enjoyed  it  very  much.  I  was  sad  amid  all  this 
enjoyment.  I  could  not  help  comparing  this  Sunday 
with  the  last,  and  thinking  how  sweet,  happy,  and  full 
that  one  was. 

In  a  month  Charlie  will  be  at  your  side;  in  two 
months  I  shall  be  with  you  all.  I  wish  these  two 
months  were  over.  But  I  really  need  this  journey. 
Good-by,  my  darling  Adele ;  I  will  let  you  know  soon 
where  to  write  to  me. 

XXVIII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

COGNAC,  2d  September,  1843. 

I  am  sending  you  a  few  lines,  dearest,  in  great  haste. 
For  the  last  week  I  have  been  traveling  night  and  day 
without  stopping  or  taking  any  rest.  I  have  left  the 
Pyrenees,  I  have  been  to  Tarbes,  Auch,  Agen,  Ber- 
gerac,  Perigueux,  Angouleme,  Jarnac,  and  I  am  going 
to  Saintes,  then  to  La  Rochelle,  where  I  hope  to  find 
nice  letters  from  you  and  from  the  others,  my  dear 
ones.  I  am  writing  to  you  alone  this  time,  for  my 
eyes  are  sore  from  the  dust  and  glare  of  the  roads ;  and 
besides,  I  know  what  I  write  to  you  is  for  all,  —  you 
are  the  mother.  So  this  letter  is  for  everybody,  as  it 
is  for  you. 

At  Luz  I  received  a  nice  little  letter  from  my  darling 
Didine.1  As  usual,  it  was  full  of  love  and  happiness. 

1  She  died  on  the  4th  of  September. 


30  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

And  I  also  got  one  from  dear  old  Charlie.  This  year 
has  not  come  up  to  our  hopes  and  his  work ;  he  must 
pluck  up  fresh  courage  for  next  year.  People  of  spirit 
may  be  eclipsed  for  a  time,  but  cannot  disappear  alto- 
gether !  So  you  must  come  to  the  front  again,  do 
you  see,  dear  Charlie.  In  the  mean  while,  enjoy  your- 
self. And  you  too,  my  darling  Toto,  and  you,  my  little 
pet  Dede.  School-time  is  approaching ;  make  the  most 
of  the  holidays. 

I  shall  be  with  you  shortly.  In  about  a  fortnight 
I  shall  be  embracing  you  all,  and  we  shall  be  together 
again.  I  will  tell  you  all  my  adventures.  You  will 
tell  me,  as  you  used  to  do  when  you  all  four  sat  to- 
gether on  my  knees,  all  your  thoughts,  your  joys,  your 
wishes.  My  Toto  will  ask  me  a  hundred  questions,  and 
I  will  give  him  twice  as  many  answers.  Take  care  of 
yourself,  Toto. 

Dearest,  as  I  am  returning  so  soon,  my  letters  will 
not  be  so  frequent ;  do  not  be  surprised  at  this.  Writ- 
ing is  but  a  poor  substitute ;  what  I  want  is  to  embrace 
you  and  have  you  all. 

So  good-by  for  the  present  only,  my  beloved  ones. 

XXIX. 

To  MLLE.  LOUISE  BERTIN,  at  Les  Roches. 

SAUMUR,  IQth  September,  1843. 

DEAR  MADEMOISELLE  LOUISE,  —  I  am  suffering,  I 
am  heart-broken  ;  my  turn  has  come,  you  see.  I  feel 
I  must  write  to  you,  —  you  who  loved  her 1  like  a 
second  mother ;  you  know,  too,  how  fond  she  was 
of  you. 

1  His  daughter  Ldopoldine. 


TO  MLLE.  LOUISE  BERTIN.  31 

Yesterday  I  had  just  taken  a  long  hot  walk  over  the 
marshes  ;  I  was  tired  and  thirsty ;  I  came  into  a  village 
called,  I  think,  Subise,  and  went  into  a  cafe.  They 
brought  me  a  glass  of  beer  and  a  paper,  the  Siecle.  I 
read  the  news.  It  was  thus  that  I  learnt  that  the  best 
part  of  my  life  and  of  my  affections  was  dead. 

I  loved  that  poor  child  more  than  words  can  tell. 
You  remember  how  charming  she  was.  She  was  the 
sweetest,  the  most  winning  of  creatures. 

0  God,  in  what  have  I  offended  thee  ?     She  was 
too  fortunate ;  she  had  everything :  beauty,  intelligence, 
youth,  love.     This  perfect  happiness  made  me  tremble ; 
I  put  up  with  my  separation  from  her  in  order  that 
something   might  be   lacking  to  her.      There  should 
always  be  a  cloud.     This  one  was  not  enough.     God 
will  not  allow  us  to  have  paradise  on  earth.     He  has 
taken  her  back.     Oh,  my  poor  darling  !  —  to  think  I 
shall  never  see  her  again. 

Forgive  me;  I  write  to  you  in  despair.  But  it  is 
some  comfort  to  me.  You  are  so  kind,  you  have  such 
a  lofty  character,  you  will  understand  me,  I  am  sure. 
I  am  fondly  attached  to  you,  and  when  I  suffer.  I  fly 
to  you. 

1  shall  arrive  in  Paris  almost  at  the  same  time  as  this 
letter.     My  poor  wife  and  children  sadly  need  me. 

My  kindest  regards  to  you, 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

My  love  to  kind  Armand.  May  God  keep  him,  and 
may  he  never  suffer  as  I  do  now. 


32  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XXX. 

To  LOUIS   BOULANGER. 

SAUMUR,  Wth  September,  [1843]. 

DEAR  Louis,  —  I  began  a  long  letter  to  you,  and 
I  am  sending  you  a  few  lines.  You  will  understand. 
I  write  to  you  in  the  depths  of  despair.  You  are  my 
friend,  and  I  must  make  you  share  this  grief  with  me., 
God  has  taken  away  the  very  light  of  our  life  and  or 
our  home.  Oh,  my  poor  child,  my  poor  darling,  she 
was  too  happy.  I  was  right,  then,  in  my  thoughts 
which  so  often  dwelt  on  her,  to  be  frightened  at  so 
much  happiness.  Dear  Louis,  love  me.  I  am  hurry- 
ing to  Paris,  but  I  wanted  to  write  to  you.  Alas !  I 
am  broken-hearted. 

XXXI. 

To  VICTOR  PAYEE. 

PARIS,  17th  September,  [1843]. 

I  no  longer  live,  my  dear  friend,  I  no  longer  think ; 
I  suffer ;  my  eyes  are  fixed  on  heaven ;  I  wait. 

What  beautiful  and  touching  things  you  say  to 
me !  Hearts  like  yours  understand  everything  be- 
cause they  contain  everything.  Alas !  what  an  angel 
I  have  lost ! 

Be  happy  !  be  blest !  My  blessing  must  be  accept- 
able to  God,  for  in  his  kingdom  the  poor  are  rich  and 
the  wretched  great. 

My  fondest  love  to  you. 


TO  EDOUARD  THIERRY.  33 

XXXII. 

To  ALPHONSE  KARR,*  at  Sainte-Adresse. 

PARIS,  18th  September,  1843. 

You  have  drawn  tears  from  me  at  this  dreadful 
time  ;  you  have  harrowed  me  and  relieved  me ;  thanks, 
dear,  noble  Alphonse  Karr.  You  have  a  great  heart ; 
you  have  spoken  appropriately  of  her  and  of  him.  My 
poor  dear  child !  Can  you  realize  that  I  shall  never  see 
her  again  ? 

XXXIII. 

To  EDOUARD  THIERRY. 

23d  September,  1843. 

We  have  both  received  a  blow  almost  at  the  same 
time,  —  you  in  the  loss  of  your  brother,  I  in  that  of 
my  daughter.  What  can  you  say  to  me,  and  what 
can  I  say  to  you  ?  Let  us  weep  together,  let  us  hope 
together.  Death  has  its  revelations,  —  the  great  sor- 
rows which  open  the  heart  open  the  mind  as  well ; 
light  comes  to  us  with  our  grief.  As  for  me,  I  have 
faith ;  I  believe  in  a  future  life.  How  could  I  do 
otherwise  ?  My  daughter  was  a  soul ;  I  saw  this  soul; 
I  touched  it,  so  to  speak.  It  was  with  me  for  eighteen 
years ;  my  eyes  are  still  full  of  its  radiance ;  even  in 
this  world  she  visibly  belonged  to  the  life  above.  I 
suffer  as  you  do  ;  hope  as  I  do. 

1  Alphonse  Karr  had  hurried  from  Sainte-Adresse  to  Villequier,  and 
had  written  a  touching  account  of  the  death  of  Ldopoldiue  and  her  hus- 
band, Charles  Vacquerie,  in  Les  Guepes. 

VOL.  II.  3 


34        •  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

xxxrv. 

To  CHARLES  DE  LACRETELLE. 

PARIS,  9th  July,  1844. 

Your  excellent  letter,  my  dear  and  venerable  friend, 
has  done  me  more  good  than  I  can  tell  you.  In  the 
deep  melancholy  in  which  I  am  plunged,  the  contem- 
plation of  an  old  man's  soul,  beautiful,  strong,  and 
serene  as  yours,  is  a  great  help  to  bearing  my  life. 
It  is  comforting  and  useful  to  us  younger  men,  who  are 
afflicted  and  tried  by  Providence,  to  let  our  thoughts 
rest  on  your  white  hairs,  on  your  mature  wisdom. 
You,  too,  have  lived,  struggled,  and  suffered.  Where 
I  have  wounds,  you  have  scars.  Now  you  are  calm, 
contented,  resigned,  and  happy,  and  you  gaze  mildly  at 
the  majestic  region  whence  come  all  the  rays  which 
give  light  to  our  eyes,  and  all  the  misfortunes  which 
illumine  our  souls.  For  nothing  is  more  true  than  that 
misfortune  brings  understanding.  How  many  things 
have  I  seen  in  myself  and  outside  myself  since  my 
sorrow  !  The  highest  hopes  spring  from  the  deepest 
griefs.  Let  us  thank  God  for  having  given  us  the 
right  to  suffer,  since  it  brings  with  it  the  right  to  hope. 

As  for  you,  my  good  and  venerable  friend,  you  are 
happy  already,  even  in  this  world.  Your  beautiful  and 
noble  old  age  participates  in  the  joys  promised  to  the 
elect.  What  can  a  blessed  eternity  give  you  better 
than  the  noble  and  charming  wife  who  loves  and  ad- 
mires you,  than  the  gentle,  amiable,  and  noble  children 
whom  you  make  happy,  and  who  make  you  happy? 
God  is  just.  He  has  begun  your  Paradise  on  earth ; 
for  you  death  will  be  a  continuation  of  it. 


TO  THEOPHILE  GAUTIER.  35 

XXXV. 

To  VICTOR  PAviE.1 

[November,  1844.] 

Alas !  what  a  sad  echo  your  heart  awakens  in  mine  ! 
Like  me,  you  are  face  to  face  with  the  great  sorrow  of 
your  life.  To  see  one's  flower  wither,  one's  future 
destroyed,  one's  hopes  turned  into  despair !  Alas  !  I 
could  not  have  wished  such  a  thing  for  my  worst 
enemy !  why  does  Providence  send  this  anguish  to  one 
of  my  best  and  dearest  friends?  Let  us  repeat  the 
grand  words  :  In  a  better  land  ! 

My  respects  to  the  poor  mother.  V. 

XXXVI. 

To  THEOPHILE  GAUTIER. 

[1845.] 

Do  you  remember,  my  friend,  what  an  outcry  there 
was  when  —  it  was  toward  the  end  of  the  Restoration 
—  some  one  you  know  took  it  into  his  head  one  fine 
day,  in  some  paper  or  other,  and  apropos  of  some  dis- 
cussion or  other  on  art  in  the  Middle  Ages,  to  put 
forth,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  shaven  chins  of  France 
and  Europe,  a  clear,  explicit,  and  formal  profession  of 
faith,  without  ambiguity  or  reserve,  in  favor  of  the 
beard  ? 

God,  he  said,  if  my  memory  serves  me,  — God  wished 
to  make,  and  has  made,  the  head  of  man  beautiful.  He 
raised  the  forehead  to  give  room  for  the  intelligence ; 
He  kindled  the  glance  under  the  arch  of  the  eyebrow, 

1  On  the  death  of  his  young  daughter,  Elizabeth  Pavie. 


36  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

as  a  lamp  shining  in  the  deep  and  mysterious  cavern 
of  thought ;  He  placed  pride,  disdain,  and  passion  in 
the  open  and  mobile  nostril,  grace  in  the  expressive 
and  smiling  mouth,  dignity  in  the  transparent  and 
calm  cheeks,  serenity  and  reflection  in  the  prominent 
and  well-cut  chin ;  and  on  the  whole  countenance  He 
stamped  the  serenity  and  strength  of  a  nature  which 
knows  and  understands  itself.  But  this  head  of  man, 
of  Adam,  which  God  has  made  beautiful,  society  tends 
to  make  ugly.  Society,  civilization,  the  whole  group 
of  complicated  and  necessary  phenomena  due  to  the 
healthy  and  normal  labor  of  the  mind  and  to  the  aber- 
rations of  moral  liberty,  leave  their  mark  on  the  human 
face.  The  calculations  of  interest  take  the  place  of 
the  speculations  of  the  intellect ;  when  the  inmate 
dwindles  in  size  the  house  shrinks;  so  the  brow  be- 
comes narrow  and  low.  When  interest  has  superseded 
intelligence,  pride  disappears,  the  nostril  contracts ;  the 
eye  grows  dull,  —  the  pupil  remains,  but  the  expres- 
sion is  gone ;  the  glass  is  there,  but  not  the  lamp. 
The  nose  is  crushed,  becomes  flat  or  prominent,  and 
has  a  tendency  to  get  farther  from  the  mouth  as  in 
the  animal,  a  distressing  sign  of  stupidity.  A  number 
of  infirmities  and  complaints  incidental  to  civilization 
and  unknown  in  a  state  of  nature  —  for  animals  never 
have  anything  the  matter  with  their  jaws  —  attack  the 
mouth,  wither  the  lips,  blacken  the  teeth,  and  poison 
the  breath.  The  eye  has  just  lost  its  expression,  the 
mouth  loses  its  smile.  Finally,  the  chin  becomes  shape- 
less and  retires  into  the  background  ;  for  in  the  line  of 
the  human  profile  the  chin  follows  the  fortunes  of  the 
forehead,  of  which  it  is,  at  the  bottom  of  the  face,  the 


TO  THEOPHILE  GAUTIEK  37 

expressive  complement,  advancing  when  the  forehead  is 
developed,  retreating  when  it  contracts,  —  a  melan- 
choly and  humiliating  transformation  which  inevitably 
goes  on  from  generation  to  generation.  But  God  had 
foreseen  this  transformation.  This  ugliness,  bred  of 
civilization,  which  in  course  of  time  overlays  the  beauty 
of  the  natural  man,  God  wished  from  the  beginning  to 
palliate  and  hide,  and  for  that  purpose  He  gave  to 
man,  the  very  day  on  which  He  created  him,  that 
splendid  mask  of  folly ,^ the  beardj  What  a  number 
of  things,  in  fact,  are  concealed  by  the  beard,  to  the 
great  advantage  of  the  human  face :  the  sunken  cheeks, 
the  retreating  chin,  the  faded  lips,  the  contracted  nos- 
trils, the  distance  from  the  nose  to  the  mouth,  the 
toothless  gums,  the  smile  which  has  lost  its  charm. 
Substitute  for  all  these  horrors,  some  of  which  are 
plagues  and  others  ridiculous,  a  rich  and  splendid 
growth  which  frames  and  fills  out  the  face  by  continu- 
ing the  hair  of  the  head,  and  mark  the  effect.  Equi- 
librium is  reestablished,  beauty  returns.  The  moral  is 
that  a  man's  head  must  indeed  be  beautiful,  modeled 
by  intelligence  and  illumined  by  thought,  to  be  beauti- 
ful without  a  beard  ;  that  a  human  face  must  indeed 
be  ugly,  irredeemably  disfigured  by  pettiness  and  vul- 
garity, to  be  ugly  with  a  beard.  Therefore,  let  your 
beards  grow,  all  ye  who  are  ugly  and  who  wish  to  be 
handsome  I 

When  the  writer  in  question  had  penned  these  bold 
and  memorable  words,  like  the  brave  and  gallant  man 
that  he  is,  he  did  not  retreat ;  he  did  not  flinch.  An- 
other man,  foreseeing,  as  he  foresaw  it,  the  storm  about 


38  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

to  break  over  his  head,  might,  perhaps,  have  preferred 
repose  to  glory,  and  thrown  the  pages  into  the  fire. 
He,  seeing  them  written,  thought  they  were  to  the 
point  and  worth  publishing,  and  like  an  honest  man 
who  takes  a  serious  step,  he  signed  them.  But,  what- 
ever may  have  been  his  expectation,  the  event  sur- 
passed it.  The  matter  was  even  more  serious  than  he 
had  supposed.  You  shoot  at  a  sparrow,  and  kill  a 
partridge.  He  imagined  he  had  only  made  a  profession 
of  faith.  He  had  issued  a  proclamation.  When  this 
audacious  and  shameless  declaration  appeared,  you  rec- 
ollect, my  friend,  what  a  grand  hubbub  there  was  ! 
what  a  frightful  battle  !  what  a  glorious  row !  what  a 
magnificent  uproar  !  The  war  of  the  chins  against  the 
beards  broke  out.  For  twelve  long  months  the  noise 
in  the  papers  was  deafening. 

Every  question  —  the  Greek  question,  the  Balkans 
question,  the  Neapolitan  question,  the  Eastern  ques- 
tion, the  Spanish  question  —  disappeared  in  a  flood  of 
pamphlets  and  articles,  under  the  beard  question.  A 
few  young  artists,  painters,  sculptors,  and  musicians, 
intrepid  and  intelligent  pioneers  of  every  idea,  had  the 
courage  to  put  the  theory  into  practice,  and  left  off 
shaving.  Then  came  a  fresh  deluge  of  prose,  verse, 
satire,  ballads,  couplets,  and  caricatures.  The  rain 
turned  into  hail.  When  the  bearded  ones  passed  by 
on  the  boulevards  or  the  street  crossings,  women  turned 
away  their  heads,  old  men  raised  their  eyes  to  heaven, 
the  street  urchins  hooted  the  man  with  a  beard.  There 
were  pen-duels  and  sword-duels.  Fighting  exasperated 
the  combatants ;  their  bile  rose,  and  for  the  space  of 
a  whole  year  they  sneezed  epigrams,  as  Piron  says. 


TO  THEOPHILE  GAUTIER.  39 

Providence  was  severely  taken  to  task  for  having  in- 
vented beards.  The  man  adorned  with  this  appendage 
was  called  a  goat.  The  beard  was  declared  to  be  ugly, 
foolish,  dirty,  filthy,  foul,  repulsive,  ridiculous,  unpa- 
triotic, Jewish,  frightful,  abominable,  hideous,  and, 
what  was  then  the  ne  plus  ultra  of  abuse,  romantic  1^ 

All  the  diseases  of  the  scalp  were  raked  up,  — 
the  plica  of  the  Poles,  the  leprosy  of  the  Hebrews,  the 
mentagra  of  the  Komans.  It  was  said  that  with  the 
beard  the  variety  of  the  human  physiognomy  would 
disappear ;  that  all  faces  would  be  alike ;  that  there 
would  be  only  four  types  of  head  left,  —  the  dark,  the 
fair,  the  gray,  and  the  red ;  that  when  this  came  to 
pass  man  would  be  hideous  in  the  eyes  of  woman,  and 
that  Adam  with  a  beard  would  be  so  ill-favored  that 
Eve  would  not  look  at  him.  It  was  said  that  a  really 
handsome  man  would  never  have  recourse  to  this  ex- 
pedient of  hiding  half  of  his  face,  and  that  the  only 
really  fine  heads  were  those  which  could  do  without  a 
beard.  It  was  said  that  never  would  one  of  the  great 
rulers  of  the  world,  with  his  Roman  profile,  laurel-girt 
brow,  deep-set  eyes,  and  imperial  cheeks,  have  dreamed 
of  hiding  his  projecting  chin,  with  its  severe  and  pen- 
sive beauty,  under  a  mass  of  hair;  and  that  every 
emperor,  from  Caesar  down  to  Napoleon,  had  shaved 
his  chin. 

From    the    outset   the    shrill-voiced    and   venerable 
school  which  upholds  "  sound  doctrines,"  "  taste,"  the 
"  grand  age,"  "  the  tender  Racine,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  had 
intervened   in    the   dispute.     It   had   pronounced  the  \ 
beard  'romantic ;  it  declared  the  shaven  chin  classic.  \ 
After  a  year  of  rage  and  fury,  it  proclaimed  its  victory 


40  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

by  asserting  in  a  triumphant  and  absolute  manner  that 
never  would  France,  never  would  "  the  most  intelli- 
gent people  in  the  world,"  adopt  the  odious  fashion  of 
letting  the  beard  grow. 

Fifteen  years  have  passed.  The  same  thing  has 
happened  which  always  befalls  the  victories  of  the 
classic  school.  Nowadays  everybody  in  France  wears 
a  beard. 

Everybody,  —  except,  perhaps,  the  man  who  started 
this  grand  quarrel  and  achieved  this  great  success. 

XXXVII. 

To  THE  EDITOR  or  THE  PHARE  DE  LA  LOIRE. 

1845. 

You  think  I  am  a  rich  man,  dear  sir?  Listen  to 
this.  I  have  been  working  for  twenty-eight  years,  for 
I  began  when  I  was  fifteen.  During  those  twenty- 
eight  years  I  have  earned  about  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  by  my  pen.  I  inherited  nothing  from  my  father  ; 
my  stepmother  and  the  lawyers  kept  what  there  was. 
I  might  have  brought  an  action,  but  against  whom  ? 
Against  a  person  who  bore  my  father's  name.  I  pre- 
ferred to  submit  to  spoliation.  For  eight  and  twenty 
years  I  have  not  rested  for  two  consecutive  months. 
I  have  educated  my  four  children.  M.Villemain  offered 
me  scholarships  for  my  sons,  and  the  St.  Denis  school 
for  my  daughters.  I  refused,  as  I  was  in  a  position  to 
educate  my  children  at  my  own  expense,  and  I  did  not 
wish  to  saddle  the  State  with  what  I  could  pay  myself. 

To-day,  of  these  five  hundred  thousand  francs  there 
remain  three  hundred  thousand.  These  three  hundred 
thousand  francs  I  have  invested,  —  capitalized,  as  they 


TO  ARSENE  HOUSSAYE.  41 

say,  —  and  I  do  not  touch  them,  for  I  have  worked  too 
hard  to  live  to  be  old,  and  I  do  not  want  my  wife  and 
children  to  receive  pensions  when  I  am  dead.  I  live 
on  the  interest.  I  still  write,  which  increases  my  income 
a  little,  and  I  support  eleven  persons,  —  all  liabilities 
and  charges  included.  Add  eighty-three  francs  a  month 
as  member  of  the  Institute,  which  I  was  forgetting. 
I  owe  no  one  anything.  I  have  never  made  a  traffic 
of  anything.  I  spend  a  little  in  charity,  —  as  much  as 
I  can.  Those  around  me  want  for  nothing.  As  for 
myself,  I  wear  overcoats  which  cost  twenty-five  francs, 
I  wear  my  hats  rather  too  long,  I  work  without  a  fire 
in  winter,  and  I  go  to  the  Chamber 1  on  foot. 

I  am  grateful,  however.  I  have  always  possessed  the 
two  blessings  without  which  I  could  not  live,  —  a  tran- 
quil conscience  and  complete  independence. 

XXXVIII. 

To  ABS^E  HOUSSAYE. 

6th  February,  1847. 

Madame  Victor  Hugo  has  told  me  of  the  terrible 
blow  which  has  just  befallen  you.  My  dear  poet,  I 
send  you,  as  well  as  the  poor  mother,  my  warmest  and 
deepest  sympathy.  I  know  too  well  what  suffering  is 
to  be  able  to  console.  You  have  lost  the  angel  of  the 
house,  —  the  flower,  the  joy,  the  sweet  spring  of  life ! 
Alas !  I  have  experienced  the  same  calamity.  You 
will  issue  from  it  as  I  have  done ;  life  falls  into  its  old 
groove  because  God  wills  it. 

We  are  the  slaves  of  destiny  and  thought.     We  go 

1  Victor  Hugo  had  been  raised  to  the  Chambre  des  Pairs  by  Louis  \ 
Philippe  on  the  13th  of  April,  1845. 


42  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

hither  and  thither,  we  work,  we  even  smile  ;  but,  what- 
ever we  do,  there  is  always  a  sad  and  sombre  thing  in 
the  heart,  —  the  memory  of  the  departed  child.  God 
help  you,  dear  poet !  I  can  only  give  you  my  hand, 
and  bow  my  head  to  your  affliction  as  to  my  own. 

XXXIX. 

To  LAMARTINE. 

24ft  March,  1847. 

Incedo  per  ignes.  All  that  I  have  read  of  your 
book 1  is  magnificent.  Here  at  last  is  the  Revolution 
treated  by  a  historian  on  a  footing  of  equality.  You 
apprehend  these  giants ;  you  grasp  these  huge  events 
with  ideas  which  are  on  a  par  with  them.  They  are 
immense  ;  but  you  are  great. 

Occasionally,  however,  for  the  good  of  the  just  and 
holy  popular  cause  which  we  love  and  which  we  both 
serve,  I  could  wish  that  you  were  more  severe.  You 
are  so  strong  that  you  can  be,  you  are  so  noble  that 
you  ought  to  be.  But  I  am  dazzled  with  the  book,  and 
delighted  with  its  success. 

XL. 

To  THE  SAME. 

Sunday,  27ft  February,  [1848].2 

DEAR  AND  ILLUSTRIOUS  FRIEND,  —  I  had  gone  to 
greet  you  in  the  public  square  while  you  came  to  my 
house  to  shake  me  by  the  hand.  I  return  you  your 
greeting. 

You  are  doing  great  things.  The  abolition  of  capital 
punishment,  this  signal  lesson  given  by  a  joewlj  born 

1  Histoire  des  Girondins.  ^  *  After  the  Revolution  of  1848. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  43 

Republic  to  the  old  time-honored  monarchies,  is  a 
grand  achievement. 

I  applaud  with  hands  and  heart. 

You  have  the  genius  of  the  poet,  the  genius  of  the 
writer,  the  genius  of  the  orator ;  you  have  wisdom  and 
courage.  You  are  a  great  man. 

I  admire  you  and  love  you. 

XLI. 
To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

24tfi  June,  [1848]/'' 
FROM  THE  ASSEMBLY,2  8  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

DEAREST, — I  spent  the  night  at  the  Assembly,  await- 
ing events.  This  morning,  at  six,  I  tried  to  join  you 
and  embrace  you  all  in  the  Place  Royale.  I  managed 
to  get  as  far  as  the  Hotel  de  Ville  by  way  of  the  quay, 
through  a  few  volleys  of  musketry.  I  spoke  to  General 
Duvivier,  and  pushed  on  to  the  entrance  of  the  Rue 
Saint-Antoine.  Here,  on  the  Place  Baudoyer,  there 
were  barricades  guarded  by  troops  of  the  line.  Shots 
were  being  exchanged.  The  officers  implored  me  not 
to  go  further,  and  a  representative  who  came  up  pointed 
out  to  me  that  if  I  did  so  I  ran  the  risk  of  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  insurgents,  who  might  perhaps  keep 
me  as  a  hostage,  which  would  embarrass  the  Assembly. 
I  turned  back,  in  great  distress,  and  very  anxious  about 
my  dear  Place  Royale.  All  the  National  Guards,  and 
a  professor  at  the  Charlemagne  College  who  was  on 
the  barricade,  assured  me  that  the  Place  Royale  was 

1  The  first  day  of  the  insurrection. 

2  Victor  Hugo  had  been  elected  a  member  of  the  Assemblee  Constitu- 
ante  on  the  4th  of  June,  1848. 


44  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

quiet.  I  Lope  that  by  this  evening  the  road  will  be 
free,  and  that  you  will  see  me  again  ;  my  thoughts  are 
with  you  all. 

What  a  terrible  thing !  and  how  sad  to  think  that 
all  this  blood  shed  on  both  sides  is  that  of  brave  and 
generous  men !  Tell  Charles  not  to  run  too  many 
risks.  Let  him  do  his  duty,  as  I  do  mine,  but  avoid 
all  imprudence. 

We  are  sitting  permanently ;  the  Assembly  will  re- 
sume work  in  a  few  minutes. 

XLII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

2,5th  June,  [1848],  a  quarter  to  nine. 

Here  is  the  news.  The  situation  is  serious.  To- 
day's fighting  will  be  fiercer  than  yesterday's.  The 
number  of  the  insurgents  has  increased.  Troops  from 
the  suburbs  and  fresh  regiments  have  arrived.  All  the 
National  Guards  within  a  radius  of  sixty  leagues  are  on 
the  move  and  coming  to  defend  Paris. 

It  is  thought,  however,  that  the  events  of  to-day  will 
be  decisive.  But  what  a  sad  ending  for  so  many  hon- 
est fellows  killed  on  both  sides  ! 

Bixio  was  shot  in  the  chest  yesterday,  and  Domes 
in  the  groin.  Both  are  dying.  Clement  Thomas  and 
Bedeau  are  wounded.  And  then  so  many  worthy 
National  Guards  !  And  the  poor  misguided  workmen ! 
We  have  just  decreed  that  the  Republic  shall  provide 
for  the  widows  and  orphans. 

Do  not  be  anxious,  dearest.  All  will  be  well.  Calm 
my  Dede.  I  embrace  you  all  with  a  sad  heart. 


TO  CHARLES  DE  LACRETELLE.  45 

XLIII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

[26$  June,  1848.1] 

DEAREST,  —  I  am  in  terrible  anxiety.  Where  are 
you?  What  has  become  of  you?  For  two  days  I  have 
been  prowling  day  and  night  in  your  neighborhood 
without  being  able  to  get  to  you.  I  am  tortured  by 
suspense.  Send  me  one  line,  just  to  say  you  are  all 
safe  and  well.  I  can  hardly  breathe.  Give  me  full 
accounts  of  everybody. 

I  have  been  here  for  the  last  four  and  twenty  hours 
with  a  mandate  of  order,  peace,  and  conciliation.2  God 
is  helping  and  will  help  us.  France  will  be  saved. 

Above  all,  be  easy  on  my  account.  I  am  well, 
though  worn  out  with  fatigue. 

XLIV. 

To  CHARLES  DE  LACRETELLE. 

FROM  THE  ASSEMBLY,  1st  July,  1848. 

We  are  all  safe  and  sound,  my  dear  old  friend.  God 
did  not  want  my  life,  for  I  gladly  risked  it  to  arrest 
this  disastrous  effusion  of  French  blood.  I  write  to 
you  in  haste  from  the  vortex  called  the  Assembly.  My 
wife  sends  her  best  love  to  yours.  We  are  moving 
to-day.  In  future  write  to  me  at  No.  5,  Rue  d'Isly. 
My  kindest  regards  to  yourself. 

1  Written  in  pencil. 

2  Victor  Hugo  was  one  of  the  commissioners  appointed  by  the  Assem- 
bly on  the  24th  of  June  to  make  known  to  the  population  of  Paris  the 
steps  which  had  been  taken.     On  the  24th  and  25th  of  June  he  had  been 
at  the  barricades,  haranguing  the  insurgents. 


46  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XLV. 

To  ULRIC  GUTTINGUEE. 

FROM  THE  ASSEMBLY,  Wth  July,  1848. 

DEAR  ULRIC, — we  are  out  of  the  fray,  but  still  in  the 
uproar.  I  think  of  you  among  your  trees  and  flowers, 
and  I  write  to  you.  You  witness  the  tempests  of  the 
ocean  ;  I  see  storms  of  another  kind,  and  I  envy  you. 

But  let  us  take  heart.  It  is  impossible  that  civiliza- 
tion should  collapse,  but  humanity  must  make  an  effort. 
The  wound  is  deep  and  dangerous,  but  who  dare  say  to 
the  Supreme  Healer,  Thou  canst  not  cure  it  ? 

For  my  part,  I  hope.  I  hoped  during  the  insurrec- 
tion, under  a  storm  of  bullets ;  I  continued  to  hope, 
when  I  knew  my  family  was  in  the  power  of  the  insur- 
gents. I  trusted  in  God.  Not  a  shot  touched  me,  not 
one  of  my  family  came  to  harm. 

Dear  poet,  dear  thinker,  it  is  not  necessary  to  teach 
charity,  love,  and  faith  to  you.     I  am  only  repeating 
your  own  maxims.     Yes,  the  new  preachers  of  pillage 
I     and  robbery  are  execrable,  Vmt  flm  people  is  g-n^rl 

Oh !  how  I  long  to  be  near  you,  amid  nature,  with 
my  family,  with  yours  !  Alas  !  I  am  grinding  here  at 
the  fatal  revolutionary  mill.  I  shall  perhaps  be  among 
the  first  to  be  crushed  by  it,  but  I  wish  it  to  crush  a 
heart  full  of  confidence  and  love.  V. 

XLVI. 

To  LAMABTINE. 

July,  1848. 

MY  ILLUSTRIOUS  FRIEND,  —  You  have  treated  my 
son  as  I  should  have  treated  yours.  You  spontaneously 


TO  CHARLES  DE  LACRETELLE.  47 

placed  him  near  your  person,  you  made  him  one  of 
your  private  secretaries,  and  you  loaded  him  with  all 
the  kindness  your  great  heart  could  dictate.  I  thank 
you  most  warmly.  The  time  which  he  spent  with  you 
will  be  one  of  the  proudest  moments  of  his  life. 

On  leaving  office,  you  offered  to  make  my  son  an 
attache  to  the  Brazilian  Legation.  I  now  learn  that 
the  execution  of  your  plan  has  met  with  an  unexpected 
obstacle,  and  that  M.  Bastide,  the  Minister  for  For- 
eign Affairs,  has  democratic  scruples  about  me  and 
demurs  to  my  name.  Allow  me  to  put  an  end  to  this 
hesitation  in  the  only  suitable  way  possible.  I  am 
writing  to  the  Minister  for  Foreign  Affairs  to-day  to* 
beg  him  not  to  appoint  my  son. 

My  son  is  returning  to  the  Minister  at  the  same  time 
his  nomination  for  diplomatic  employment.  He  will 
keep  what  was  most  precious  about  it  in  his  eyes,  the 
recollection  of  having  received  it  from  you. 

I  press  your  hand,  dear  Lamartine,  and  I  renew  the 
assurance  of  my  profound  admiration  and  long-stand- 
ing friendship. 

XL  VII. 

To  CHARLES  DE  LACRETELLE. 

FROM  THE  ASSEMBLY,  13th  February,  [1849]. 

You  look  on  affairs,  my  venerable  friend,  with  the 
clear  and  quiet  glance  of  minds  accustomed  to  contem- 
plation and  reflection.  Men  like  you  begin  by  judg- 
ing and  end  by  loving.  As  he  grows  old  the  historian 
softens  and  becomes  a  philosopher.  Even  your  severity 
bears  the  stamp  of  kindness.  You  do  not  condemn 
things  because  you  understand  men. 

But  this   placid  serenity  in  no  way  detracts  from 


48  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

your  warm-heartedness,  and  when  our  errors  and  follies 
deserve  reprobation,  your  censure  weighs  all  the  more 
heavily  on  bad  men  because  it  proceeds  from  an  in- 
dulgent mind. 

The  history  which  we  are  making  does  not  deserve 
a  historian  like  you.  So  I  congratulate  you  on  spend- 
ing your  life  quietly  at  home  in  meditation  and  the 
composition  of  poetry.  But  send  me,  who  am  in  the 
fight,  a  word  of  encouragement  from  time  to  time. 
The  battle  is  not  yet  over.  We  who  are  in  the  thick 
of  the  fray  still  need  strength  and  determination.  As 
for  me,  my  heart  is  divided  between  fear  and  hope. 
I  have  profound  faith  in  the  future  of  civilization  and 
of  France,  but  I  do  not  hide  from  myself  what  the 
storm  may  bring.  We  may  founder,  as  we  may  reach 
the  land  ;  I  believe  in  two  possibilities  :  a  fearful  ship- 
wreck, a  splendid  port.  May  God  conduct  us  !  but  let 
us  help  God. 

XLVIII. 

To  GUSTAVE  D'ElCHTAL. 

26th  Octobe^  1849. 

The  ideas  which  are  in  your  mind  are  in  mine  too. 
I  even  go  further.  But  is  it  possible  in  these  days  to 
say  everything  at  once  ?  When  the  flame  is  low,  too 
much  oil  puts  out  the  lamp.  There  are  things  which 
must  not  be  mentioned,  gleams  of  light  which  must  be 
veiled,  prospects  which  must  be  concealed,  future  reali- 
ties which  would  be  chimeras  for  the  present  age. 
Man  cannot  bear  nudity  in  any  form,  the  nudity  of  the 
future  no  more  than  any  other.  This  luminous  nudity 
would  dazzle  him.  The  reason  is  that  he  long  ago  lost, 
and  is  only  slowly  recovering,  the  feeling  for  and  the 
love  of  the  ideal. 


TO  HENRI  DE  LACRETELLE.  49 

We  must  all  labor  to  restore  him  this  feeling  for  and 
love  of  the  jdeal^  We  must  not  despair ;  quite  the 
reverse.  We  have  already  lifted  a  corner  of  the  veil 
in  the  JPeace  Congress,  i  I  tried  to  raise  another  in  the 
debate  on  Rome.  Little"  by  little  light  breaks  in,  and, 
thanks  to  the  courageous  efforts  of  those  who  think, 
our  _aga,  at  first  so  incredulous  and  ironical,  begins 
to  get  accustomed  to  the  brightness  of  the  future. 

You  belong  to  those  who  decipher  this  great  un- 
known, which  is  dark  for  the  weak  and  radiant  for  the 
strong.  You  belong  to  those  who  affirm  and  hope. 
I  rejoice  to  feel,  like  you,  full  of  faith,  that  is,  full  of 
love.  The  ultra-Catholics  of  our  day  have  no  faith, 
and  the  proof  of  it  is  that  they  are  full  of  hatred. 
Their  eyes  are  blinded,  and  their  hearts  are  turned  to 
stone.  Let  us  pity  them,  and  let  us  pray  to  God  that 
the  great  destinies  of  mankind  may  be  accomplished 
soon  enough  to  make  them,  in  spite  of  themselves, 
happy  and  confident. 

XLIX. 

To  HENRI  DE  LACRETELLE. 

FROM  THE  ASSEMBLY,1  3d  fune,  1850. 

Thanks,  dear  poet.  What  a  good  comforting  mes- 
sage you  sent  me  !  The  contest  is  keen,  the  enemy 
is  full  of  ardor,  hatred  is  bellowing  its  loudest,  but 
how  sweet  is  your  greeting  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult ! 
At  this  moment,  while  I  am  writing  to  you,  I  hear  the 
bark  of  the  Right ;  my  thoughts  go  out  to  yours 
through  all  this  uproar,  and  I  seem  to  feel  the  gentle 
influence  of  your  serenity. 

1  The  Assemblee  Legislative,  to  which  Victor  Hugo  had  been  elected  in 
1849. 

VOL.  n.  4 


50  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

How  blest  you  are  among  your  flowers  and  trees, 
with  the  conversation  of  your  good  father,  with  the 
smiles  of  your  charming  wife  !  You  have  nature, 
poetry,  love,  happiness.  We  have  the  spectacle  of  rage 
in  the  Senate,  and  disgrace  in  the  laws.  How  mean 
and  petty  is  the  moment  through  which  we  are  passing. 
Happily,  the  age  is  great. 

Write  us  some  fine  verses,  send  me  some  noble  let- 
ters, and  love  me. 

L. 

To  MlCHELET.1 

Saturday,  29^  March,  1851. 

I  was  deeply  pained  on  Thursday,  my  dear  and  elo- 
quent colleague,  pained  to  hear  such  things  said  from 
the  tribune,  and  pained  to  be  unable  to  reply  to  them. 
An  indisposition  which  I  could  not  overcome  kept  me 
glued  to  my  seat. 
/  Freedom  of  thought  has  been  gagged  in  your  per- 
son, freedom  of  conscience  has  been  cashiered  in  that 
of  M.  Jacques ;  philosophy,  reason,  history,  law,  the 
three  great  centuries  of  emancipation,  the  sixteenth,  the 
seventeenth,  and  the  eighteenth,  have  been  gainsaid ; 
the  nineteenth  has  been  defied ;  all  this  was  cheered  by 
the  party  which  commands  a  majority,  all  this  was  up- 
held, explained,  commented  on,  glorified,  for  the  space 
of  two  hours,  by  one  M.  Giraud,  who  is,  I  am  told, 
your  colleague  and  mine  at  the  Institut ;  all  this  was 
said  and  done  by  the  Minister  who  represents  educa- 
tion in  France,  in  the  tribune  which  instructs  the 
world !  I  left  the  Chamber  ashamed  and  indignant. 

1  Michelet's  course  of  lectures  at  the  College  de  France  had  been  sus- 
pended by  the  Government. 


TO  MME.  CHAPMAN.  51 

I  send  you  my  protest ;  I  should  like  to  send  it  to 
all  the  noble  and  generous  youths  who  love  and  ad- 
mire you. 

I  congratulate  you  on  being  persecuted  for  the  holy 
cause  of  the  French  Revolution  and  the  human  mind.  » 

LI. 
To  MRS.  MARIA  CHAPMAN. 

12th  May,  1851. 

MADAM,  —  You  are  good  enough  to  believe  that  a 
word  from  me,  in  this  sacred  cause  of  emancipation, 
may  have  some  influence  on  the  great  American  people 
whom  I  love  so  deeply,  and  whose  destinies  are,  in  my 
opinion,  linked  to  the  mission  of  France.  You  wish 
me  to  make  my  voice  heard.  I  do  it  at  once,  and  will 
do  so  on  every  occasion. 

I  have  hardly  anything  to  add  to  your  letter.  I 
could  indorse  every  line  of  it.  Continue  your  sacred 
task.  All  great  minds  and  good  hearts  are  on  your 
side. 

I  agree  with  you  that  it  is  impossible  that  the  United 
States  of  America  should  not,  within  a  certain  time, 
before  long,  give  up  slavery.  Slavery  in  such  a 
country  !  Was  there  ever  such  a  monstrous  contradic- 
tion ?  It  is  barbarism  installed  in  the  very  heart  of  a 
society  the  whole  of  which  is  the  affirmation  of  civiliza- 
tion. Liberty  in  chains,  blasphemy  proceeding  from 
the  altar,  the  negro's  fetters  riveted  to  the  pedestal  of 
Washington's  statue  !  It  is  unheard  of.  I  go  further  : 
it  is  impossible.  It  is  a  phenomenon  which  will  disap- 
pear of  itself.  The  light  of  the  nineteenth  century  is 
sufficient  to  dissolve  it. 


52  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

What !  slavery  legalized  in  the  illustrious  nation 
which  for  the  last  sixty  years  has  demonstrated  pro- 
gress by  its  advance  and  liberty  by  its  prosperity  ! 
Slavery  in  the  United  States  !  It  is  the  duty  of  this 
great  republic  to  set  this  bad  example  no  longer.  It 
is  a  disgrace,  and  she  is  not  one  of  those  that  hang 
the  head !  It  is  not  for  young  nations  to  harbor 
slavery  when  old  ones  are  discarding  it.  What !  slavery 
is  to  quit  Turkey  and  remain  in  America  !  The  pashas 
are  turning  it  out,  and  the  country  of  Franklin  is  to 
adopt  it !  No,  a  thousand  times  no  ! 
/  There  is  an  inflexible  logic  which  develops  more  or 
'  less  slowly,  which  fashions,  which  rectifies  —  after  a 
mysterious  pattern  of  which  great  minds  have  a  glimpse 
and  which  is  the  ideal  of  civilization  —  mankind,  facts, 
laws,  manners,  peoples ;  or,  to  express  it  better,  under 
human  institutions  there  are  divine  ones.  Let  all  gen- 
erous hearts  take  courage  ! 

The  United  States  must  either  give  up  slavery  or 
give  up  liberty  !  They  will  not  give  up  liberty  !  They 
must  either  give  up  slavery  or  the  gospel.  They  will 
not  give  up  the  gospel ! 

Accept,  madam,  with  my  warmest  adhesion  to  the 
cause,  the  homage  of  my  respect. 

LII. 

To  MONSIEUR  PARTARRIEU-LAFOSSE,  President  of  the  Assize 

Court. 

5th  June,  1851. 

MONSIEUR  LE  PRESIDENT,  —  My  son  Charles  Hugo 
has  been  cited  to  appear  before  the  Assize  Court  of 
which  you  are  the  presiding  judge,  on  Tuesday,  the 


i 


TO  ANGELO  BROFFERIO.  53 

10th  of  June,  on  a  charge  of  having  failed  in  the  re- 
spect due  to  the  laws,  in  an  article 1  on  the  execution 
of  the  condemned  criminal  Montcharmont.2 

My  son  desires  to  be  defended  by  me,  and  I  wish  to 
defend  him. 

In  accordance  with  section  295  of  the  Code  of  Crim- 
inal Procedure  I  apply  to  you  for  permission  to  do  so. 

Receive  the  assurance  of  my  distinguished  consider- 
ation. 

LIII. 

i 
To  ANGELO  BROFFERIO. 

PARIS,  7th  August,  1851. 

DEAR  AND  ELOQUENT  COLLEAGUE,  —  I  have  been  a 
long  while  answering  your  letter  ;  but  you  know  what 
a  stormy  time  we  have  gone  through.  Last  month  the 
Eepublic,  liberty,  progress,  all  the  principles  and  truths 
of  the  nineteenth  century  were  called  in  question.  For 
a  whole  week  I  had  to  stand  in  this  great  breach  and 
repulse  the  furious  assault  of  the  past  on  the  present 
and  the  future. 

With  God's  help  we  have  conquered.  The  old 
parties  have  beat  a  retreat,  and  the  Revolution  has 
gained  all  the  ground  which  they  have  lost.  You 
know  all  this  good  news  already,  but  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
me  to  tell  it  to  you  again,  to  you,  Brofferio,  who  carry 
the  standard  of  the  people  and  of  liberty  so  high  aloft 
and  so  proudly  in  thes^^li^ent  of  PjejjjqiQB^ 

1  The  article  was  signed  by  Charles  Hugo  and  published  in  the  Evene- 
ment,  the  newspaper  founded  by  Victor  Hugo  in  1848.    Victor  Hugo 
defended  his  son,  and  made  a  speech  against  capital  punishment.    The 
jury  found  Charles  Hugo  guilty,  and  the  court  sentenced  him  to  six 
months'  imprisonment  and  to  pay  a  fine  of  500  francs. 

2  A  poacher,  who  had  killed  two  gendarmes  and  a  forester. 


54  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Dear  colleague,  —  for  we  are  colleagues ;  besides  the 
mandate  of  our  countries  we  have  the  mandate  of  hu-  j  *~ 
manity,  —  dear  and  eloquent  colleague,  I  thank  you  for 
the  courage  with  which  you  inspire  me,  I  congratulate 
you  on  the  progress  which  you  are  achieving,  and  I 
press  your  two  hands  in  mine. 


II.    THE  COUP  D'ETAT.  —  LETTERS  FEOM  BRUSSELS. 

1851-1852. 


[THE  coup  d'6tat  of  the  2d  of  December  breaks  out. 
In  the  morning  of  that  day  Victor  Hugo  leaves  his 
house  in  the  Eue  de  la  Tour  d'Auvergne  and  joins  the 
representatives  of  the  Left  for  the  twelve  days'  struggle 
related  in  L'Histoire  d'un  crime. 

On  the  4th,  communications  are  still  uninterrupted. 
He  sends  Mme.  Victor  Hugo  the  following  note  in 
pencil.] 

i. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

[Wi  December,  1851.] 

DEAREST, — I  spent  the  night  with  an  excellent 
friend  of  the  Davidal  family,  M.  de  la  Roellerie. 
Thank  them  warmly  on  my  behalf.  Yesterday  evening 
I  presided  over  the  meeting  of  the  Left.  Nothing  is 
hopeless.  I  am  starting  this  morning  for  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Antoine. 

In  God's  keeping  ! 

[Madame  Victor  Hugo  was  left  without  news  for 
several  days.  Subsequently  she  received,  through  an 
indirect  channel,  under  the  name  of  Madame  Riviere, 
the  two  following  letters.] 


56  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

II. 

Sunday,  7th  December,  [1851]. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  M.  Riviere  was  obliged  to  leave 
without  bidding  you  good-by.  He  requests  me  to  let 
you  know  this.  He  intends,  however,  to  write  to  you 
himself  as  soon  as  he  has  a  moment  to  spare,  and  it  will 
be  a  pleasure  to  him  to  express  all  that  he  feels  for  you. 

As  he  was  unable  to  find  the  portress  when  he  was 
leaving,  he  begs  you  to  be  so  good  as  to  give  her  from 
him  a  gratuity  of  five  francs,  which  Mme.  Riviere  will 
repay  you  the  first  time  you  see  her.  Kindly  tell  Mme. 
Riviere  that  her  husband  is  well,  that  he  sends  her,  as 
well  as  his  daughter  and  his  sons,  his  fondest  love,  and 
that  he  will  write  to  them  all  soon. 

M.  Riviere  sends  you  his  kindest  regards. 

ALBERT  DURAND. 

M.  Riviere  begs  you  to  show  this  letter  to  his  wife. 

in. 

Monday,  Sth  December,  [1851]. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  M.  Riviere  is  in  good  health, 
but  he  found  so  much  to  do  on  his  arrival  that  he 
cannot  write  to  you  yet. 

He  bids  me  do  it  in  his  stead,  requesting  you  at  the 
same  time  to  let  his  wife  and  children  know.  In  the 
present  state  of  affairs  a  little  more  time  will  be  required 
for  business  to  revive  ;  everything,  however,  may  come 
right  eventually. 

Tell  Mme.  and  Mile.  Riviere  that  M.  Riviere  sends 
them  his  best  love  and  hopes  to  see  them  soon. 

Your  friend,  ALBERT  DURAND. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  57 

rv. 

To  "  MADAME  RIVIERE  "  (MME.  VICTOR  HUGO). 

BRUSSELS,  12th  December,  [1851].     7  A.  M. 

A  line  in  haste,  dearest.  I  am  here.  It  was  no 
easy  matter.  Write  to  me  at  the  following  address : 
M.  Lanvin,  Bruxelles,  poste  restante. 

If  you  have  any.  letters  for  me,  keep  them  all,  and 
do  not  give  them  to  any  one.  I  will  let  you  know  how 
you  can  send  them  to  me  later  on. 

I  hope  that  you  have  seen  our  dear  children  again. 
Send  me  detailed  news.  Take  good  care  of  all  my 
papers.  What  has  happened  at  home  ? 

My  keys  will  be  delivered  to  you.  You  will  find  the 
securities  in  a  portfolio  on  the  red  box  in  my  lacquered 
wardrobe  (your  father's).  Take  great  care  of  them. 

Collect  and  take  the  utmost  care  of  everything  in 
the  chest  at  the  side  of  my  bed.  They  are  diaries,  — 
the  only  copies  I  have.  In  the  covered  chest  near  my 
table  there  are  some  things  of  great  value.  I  com- 
mend them  to  you. 

What  I  commend  to  you  above  all  is  to  be  of  good 
heart.  I  know  that  you  have  a  lofty,  strong  nature. 
Tell  my  beloved  children  that  my  heart  is  with  them. 
Tell  my  little  Adele  that  I  do  not  want  her  to  get  pale 
or  thin.  Let  her  be  calm.  The  future  belongs  to  the 
good. 

My  warmest  greetings  to  our  friends,  —  to  Auguste, 
to  Meurice,1  to  his  charming  wife.  I  close  this  letter 
at  once,  so  that  it  may  reach  you  to-day. 

1  Auguste  Vacquerie  and  Paul  Meurice  were,  at  this  moment,  in  the 
Conciergerie  prison  with  Charles  and  Francois- Victor  Hugo. 


58  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

V. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 
BRUSSELS,  Sunday,  l&th  [December,  1851].     3  P.  M. 

I  open  your  letter,  dearest,  and  answer  it  at  once. 
Do  not  be  uneasy.  The  drawings l  are  in  safety.  / 
have  them  with  me  here,  and  so  I  shall  be  able  to  go 
on  with  my  work.  I  had  put  them  into  another  port- 
manteau. I  took  them  with  me  when  I  left  Paris. 

For  twelve  days  I  have  been  betwixt  life  and  death, 
but  I  have  not  had  a  moment's  uneasiness.  I  have 
been  satisfied  with  myself.  And  then  I  know  that  I 
have  done  my  duty,  and  that  I  have  done  it  thoroughly. 
That  is  a  source  of  satisfaction.  I  met  with  complete 
devotion  from  those  around  me.  Sometimes  my  life 
was  at  the  mercy  of  ten  persons  at  once.  A  word  might 
have  ruined  me,  but  it  was  never  spoken. 

I  owe  an  immense  deal  to  M.  and  Mme.  de  M , 

whom  I  mentioned  to  you.  It  was  they  who  saved  me 
at  the  most  critical  moment.  Pay  a  very  friendly  visit 

to  Mme.  de  M .  She  lives  near  you,  at  No.  2,  Rue 

Navarin.     Some  day  I  will  tell  you  all  that  they  did 

for  me.     In  the  mean  while  you  cannot  show  yourself 

too  grateful  to  them.     It  was  all  the  more  meritorious 

I  on  their  part  because  they  are  in  the  other  camp,  and 

the  service  they  rendered  me  might   have   seriously 

\  compromised  them.     Give  them  credit  for  all  this,  and 

|  be  very  nice  to  Mme.  de  M and  her  husband,  who 

is  the  best  of  men.  The  mere  sight  of  him  will  make 
you  like  him.  He  is  another  Abel.2 

1  By  drawings  Victor  Hugo  meant  his  manuscripts. 
fl  Abel  Hugo,  the  poet's  son. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  59 

Send  me  detailed  news  of  my  dear  children,  of  my 
daughter,  who  must  have  suffered  much.  Tell  them 
all  to  write  to  me.  The  poor  boys  must  have  been 
very  uncomfortable  in  prison,  owing  to  the  crowding. 
Has  any  fresh  severity  been  practiced  on  them  ?  Write 
to  me  about  it.  I  know  that  you  go  to  see  them  every 
day.  Do  you  still  dine  with  our  dear  colony  ? l 

I  am  putting  up  here  at  the  Hotel  de  la  Porte-Verte, 
room  No.  9.  I  have  for  neighbor  a  worthy  and  cour- 
ageous refugee  representative,  Versigny.  He  has  room 
No.  4.  Our  doors  are  close  to  each  other.  I  lead  the 
life  of  an  anchorite.  I  have  a  tiny  bed,  two  straw- 
bottomed  chairs,  and  no  fire.  My  total  expenses  amount 
to  three  francs  a  day,  everything  included.  Versigny 
lives  as  I  do. 

Tell  my  Charles  that  he  must  become  quite  a  man. 
In  the  days  when  I  carrie^  niy  life  in  my  hand  I 
thought  of  him.  He  might  at  any  moment  have  be- 
come the  head  of  the  family,  the  support  of  you  all. 
He  must  think  of  this. 

Live  sparingly.  Make  the  money  which  I  left  you 
last  a  long  time.  I  have  venough  in  prospect  to  get 
on  here  for  some  months. 

Yesterday  I  saw  the  Minister  of  the  Interior,  M.  Ch. 
Rogier,  who  paid  me  a  visit  in  the  Rue  Jean-Goujon 
twenty  years  ago.  When  I  came  in  I  said  to  him 
laughingly,  "  I  have  come  to  return  your  visit." 

He  was  very  cordial.  I  told  him  that  I  had  a  duty, 
to  write  the  history  of  what  has  happened,  at  once  and 
while  it  was  fresh.  As  actor,  eye-witness,  and  judge, 
I  am  the  historian  for  it.  That  I  could  not  accept 

1  The  four  prisoners  in  the  Conciergerie. 


60  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

any  condition  as  to  residence.  That  they  might  expel 
me  if  they  chose.  That,  however,  I  should  only  publish 
this  historical  work  on  condition  of  its  not  aggravat- 
ing the  condition  of  my  sons,  who  are  in  the  man's 
power  at  this  moment.  He  might  torture  them,  in 
fact. 

Let  me  know  your  views.  If  anything  from  my  pen 
can  in  any  way  inconvenience  them,  I  will  be  silent. 
In  that  case  I  will  confine  myself  to  finishing  my 
book  Les  Miseres  here.  Who  knows,  perhaps  this  was 
the  only  chance  of  finishing  it.  We  must  never  accuse 
or  judge  Providence.  What  a  blessing,  for  instance, 
that  my  sons  were  in  prison  during  the  events  of  the 
3d  and  the  4th  ! 

M.  Rogier  told  me  that  if  I  published  this  work  now 
my  presence  might  be  a  serious  embarrassment  to  Bel- 
gium, —  a  small  state  with  a  powerful  and  overbearing 
neighbor.  I  said  :  "  In  that  case,  if  I  decide  to  publish 
it,  I  will  go  to  London." 

We  parted  good  friends.  He  offered  me  some  shirts. 
I  certainly  need  some.  I  have  no  clothes  nor  linen. 
Take  my  empty  portmanteau  and  put  my  things  in  it, 
—  my  new  stocking  trousers,  my  trousers  that  are  not 
new,  my  old  gray  ones,  my  coat,  my  big  frogged  sur- 
tout,  —  the  hood  of  which  you  will  find  on  the  carved 
bench,  —  and  my  new  shoes.  Besides  the  pair  at 
home,  I  ordered  another  of  Kuhn,  my  bootmaker,  in 
the  Rue  de  Valois,  three  weeks  ago.  Get  them  and 
pay  for  them  (eighteen  francs),  and  put  them  in  the 
portmanteau. 

Padlock  the  trunk.  I  will  let  you  know  later  on 
how  you  are  to  send  it  to  me. 


TO  MME.  VICTOK  HUGO.  61 

Perhaps  it  will  be  advisable  for  you  to  come  here 
for  a  few  days,  to  settle  a  number  of  matters  of  im- 
portance, which  it  is  impossible  to  write  about.  If  you 
agree,  we  will  discuss  it  in  our  next  letters. 

I  must  close ;  the  post  is  going.  I  seem  to  have 
forgotten  a  great  many  things.  Dearest,  I  know  that 
you  have  been  full  of  courage  and  dignity  in  these 
terrible  days.  Go  on  as  you  have  begun.  You  win 
the  respect  of  all.  Let  me  know  about  Victor's  and 
A  dele's  health.  As  for  Charles,  he  is  made  of  iron. 

Give  them  all  my  best  love,  and  press  the  generous 
hands  of  Auguste  and  of  Paul  Meurice. 

My  fondest  love  to  you.  Do  not  forget  the  visit  to 
the  M 's. 

VI. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 
BRUSSELS,  Sunday  morning,  28th  December,  [1851]. 

Dumas  is  going  to  Paris,  and  undertakes  to  deliver 
this  letter  to  you.  Dearest,  I  hope  that  you  are  all 
well  there.  I  shall,  perhaps,  find  some  of  your  letters 
at  the  post  to-day,  and  it  will  be  a  great  joy  to  me  in 
my  solitude.  There  is  nothing  new  here.  Yesterday 
morning,  however,  I  had  a  visit  from  two  gendarmes. 
They  laid  their  hands  on  me  a  little ;  very  civilly 
though.  They  just  conducted  me  to  the  procureur  du 
roi.  They  went  so  far  as  to  march  me  to  the  police, 
to  give  an  explanation  of  my  forged  passport.  The 
whole  thing  ended  by  quasi  apologies  on  their  part,  by 
a  laugh  from  me,  and  good-evening.  The  Opposition 
papers  here  wanted  to  make  a  fuss  about  it.  I  thought 
this  unnecessary.  At  heart  this  government  is  afraid 
of  the  man  of  the  coup  d'etat,  and  we  must  not  find 


62  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

fault  with  it  for  worrying  the  refugees  a  little.  I  for- 
give them,  but  the  proceedings  are  none  the  less  very 
Belgian,  —  very  welche,  as  Voltaire  says. 

Perhaps  it  will  be  feasible  to  make  some  arrange- 
ment here  by  which  the  Belgian  booksellers  would 
agree  not  to  pirate  the  book.  It  is  a  great  idea. 
Overtures  have  been  made  to  me.  We  shall  see  what 
will  come  of  it. 

I  am  working  hard  at  those  notes.1  What  a  pity 
that  it  cannot  be  published  in  that  form  !  Well,  we 
shall  see  what  can  be  done  in  that  direction,  too. 

Love  me,  all  of  you,  —  Charles,  Victor,  Auguste, 
Paul  Meurice,  my  four  sons,  as  I  call  them.  I  hope 
that  all  these  dear  prisoners  are  well.  Tell  my  be- 
loved Adele  to  write  me  a  nice  little  letter,  as  she  did 
the  other  day. 

Dumas  urges  me  to  close  my  letter.  I  embrace  you 
all,  and  I  look  forward  to  the  day  when  I  shall  no 
longer  do  it  on  paper. 

VII. 
To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Tuesday,  SQth  December,  [1851]. 

First  and  foremost,  dearest,  do  not  be  uneasy.  Mme. 
Faillet  brought  me  your  letter  this  morning  to  my  inn ; 
but  Dumas  must  have  delivered  you  mine  yesterday. 
By  this  time  you  must  know  what  has  taken  place.  A 
slight  annoyance,  nothing  more,  and  at  the  present 
moment  I  believe  it  is  completely  at  an  end.  Moreover, 
everybody  here  shows  me  the  warmest  sympathy.  It 

1  The  history  of  the  2d  of  December,  which  Victor  Hugo  had  decided 
to  write  on  his  arrival. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  63 

comes  from  all  sides  and  all  parties  at  once.  This 
morning,  when  I  was  lunching  at  the  table  I  have 
spoken  of,  M.  de  Perseval,  the  leader  of  the  democratic 
opposition  in  the  Belgian  Chamber,  and  M.  Deschamps, 
the  leader  of  the  Catholic  opposition,  were  sitting  near 
me.  Both  of  them  made  me  a  cordial  offer  of  their 
services.  M.  Deschamps,  who  has  been  minister  twice, 
spoke  to  me  about  that  little  passport  affair,  and  told 
me  that  he  would  intervene  in  case  of  need ;  but  that  I 
might  consider  myself  as  defended  by  every  one  here.  \ 
He  said  to  me  :  "  There  are  many  who  hate  you,  but  ) 
everybody  honors  you." 

I  believe,  in  fact,  that  for  the  moment  I  can  remain 
here  in  perfect  safety.  In  any  event,  set  your  mind  at 
rest :  England  is  only  a  step  from  here. 

Yes,  we  must  consider  about  the  furniture.  But, 
while  taking  precautions,  we  must  not  give  way  to  panic. 
They  will  think  twice  before  they  confiscate  my  furni- 
ture, my  rights  as  an  author,  and  my  allowance  from 
the  Institute.  That  would  do  them  more  harm  than 
me.  So  calm  yourself,  dearest,  while  keeping  a  good 
lookout,  however. 

I  am  more  popular  here  than  I  thought.  Yesterday,  \ 
at  a  printers'  dinner,  they  drank  the  health  of  the  three  j 
men  who  personify  the  struggle  against  despotism, —  / 
Mazzini,  Kossuth,  Victor  Hugo. 

I  have  only  space  for  a  couple  of  lines  more.  Fond- 
est love  to  you  all.  Charlie,  Victor,  Adele,  I  kiss  you 
on  your  six  cheeks.  Write  to  me. 


64  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

VIII. 
To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  31sZ  December,  [1851]. 

DEAREST,  — •  M.  Bourlon,  who  will  give  you  this 
letter,  is  the  editor  of  the  Moniteur,  of  Belgium.  Give 
him  your  warmest  reception.  He  is  a  very  distin- 
guished man,  with  a  mind  above  the  common,  and  a 
noble  heart.  He  is  at  one  with  all  our  ideas  ;  and 
his  wife,  who  is  witty  and  charming,  also  resembles  you 
in  enthusiasm  and  belief  in  the  future  and  progress. 

I  send  you  an  article  of  the  Messager  des  Chambres 
here  on  the  incident  which  had  alarmed  you.  This 
will  set  your  mind  quite  at  rest.  In  spite  of  this  little 
matter,  I  am  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  reception  given 
to  me  here. 

To-day  the  year  closes  on  a  great  ordeal  for  us  all, 
—  our  two  sons  in  prison  and  me  in  exile.  That  is 
hard,  but  good.  A  little  frost  improves  the  crop.  As 
for  me,  I  thank  God. 

To-morrow,  New  Year's  Day,  I  shall  not  be  there  to 
embrace  you  all,  my  loved  ones.  But  I  shall  think  of 
you.  All  my  feelings  will  go  out  towards  you.  I  shall 
be  in  Paris,  in  the  Conciergerie.  Talk  about  me  at 
this  family  and  prison  dinner,  which  I  am  so  sorry  to 
miss  ;  I  fancy  I  shall  hear  you. 

Thank  you  for  the  journal  which  you  are  keeping 
for  me.  I  believe  it  will  be  very  useful,  for  you  see  a 
side  of  things  which  escapes  me. 

Thank  Beranger,  and  send  my  compliments  to  Ber- 
ry er.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  read  what  B Granger  said. 

Here  I  have  abundance  of  information.    I  am  almost 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  65 

as  much  surrounded  as  in  Paris.  This  morning  I  had 
a  gathering  of  old  representatives  and  ex-ministers  in 
my  den  of  the  Porte-Verte,  where  I  still  am. 

A  confidential  letter  from  Louis  Blanc  has  been 
brought  me.  They  are  going  to  start  a  weekly  paper 
in  London  in  French.  The  committee  will  consist  of 
three  Frenchmen,  three  Germans,  and  three  Italians. 
I  am  to  be  one  of  the  three  Frenchmen,  with  Louis 
Blanc  and  Pierre  Leroux.  What  do  you  say  to  that  ? 
We  might  make  a  great  fight  against  the  Bonaparte. 
But  I  am  afraid  that  it  will  recoil  on  our  poor  dear 
prisoners.  Let  me  know  your  views  on  this  point. 
But  be  very  careful  in  speaking  about  it  to  anybody. 
Secrecy  is  demanded  of  me. 

Schoelcher  arrived  this  evening,  disguised  as  a  priest. 
I  have  not  seen  him  yet.  The  other  night  I  was  asleep, 
and  was  awakened.  It  was  de  Flotte,  coming  into  my 
room  with  an  advocate  from  Ghent.  He  had  shaved 
off  his  beard.  I  did  not  know  him.  I  like  de  Flotte 
very  much.  He  is  a  worthy  fellow  and  a  thinker. 
We  talked  together  for  part  of  the  night.  Like  me, 
he  is  full  of  courage  and  faith  in  God. 

I  embrace  you  tenderly,  my  poor  dear  wife  and  my 
beloved  children.  My  fondest  love  to  you.  Good-by 
for  the  present,  Charles.  Dearest,  give  Auguste  and 
Paul  Meurice  a  warm  shake  of  the  hand.  Give  my 
respects  to  Mme.  Paul  Meurice.  What  a  happy  time 
you  must  all  still  have  together  in  that  prison  !  How 

I  should  like  to  be  with  you  and  with  them ! 
VOL.  n.         5 


66  THE  LETTERS  OP  VICTOR  HUGO. 

IX. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  5th  January,  1852. 

I  have  received  all  the  letters  of  my  dear  children, 
and  all  yours ;  and  the  longer  they  are,  the  more  they 
please  me.  So  don't  be  afraid  of  writing  volumes. 

You  can  in  case  of  need,  and  for  non-confidential 
matters,  write  to  me  direct  to  M.  Lanvin,  16  Place  de 
THotel  de  Ville.  I  have  taken  up  my  abode  there 
to-day,  and  have  told  my  landlord  that  if  any  one  asks 
for  M.  Lanvin  or  for  M.  Victor  Hugo,  he  is  inquiring 
for  me.  So  I  am  living  there  in  my  two  characters. 

When  Charles  arrives  he  will  find  me  in  this  vast 
hall,  with  three  windows  looking  on  the  splendid  square 
of  the  Hotel  de  Ville.  I  have  hired  (for  a  mere  trifle) 
the  indispensable  furniture,  a  bed,  a  table,  etc.,  and  a 
good  stove.  I  work  there  in  comfort  and  feel  at  home 
there.  If  I  come  across  an  old  carpet  for  fifteen  francs, 
I  shall  be  perfectly  happy. 

If  I  were  to  send  you  all  the  loving  things  that  I 
have  in  my  heart,  it  is  I  who  would  write  you  volumes. 
How  can  you  imagine  that  I  have  any  mistrust,  I  who 
feel  that  you  are  such  a  noble,  steadfast,  and  loving 
support  to  me !  Withdraw  that  ugly  word.  I  take 
precautions,  that  is  all,  and  I  take  them  in  the  interest 
of  you  all. 

You  see  and  feel  yourself  that  my  prudence  was  not 
carried  too  far,  and  that  it  was  justified  by  the  result. 
Let  my  sons  bear  in  mind  this  axiom  of  my  life  :  it  is 
prudence  which  gives  the  right  to  be  courageous. 

I  send  you  the  letter  which  Louis  Blanc  has  written 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  67 

me.  Kead  it  yourself  and  give  it  to  the  inmates  of  the 
Conciergerie  to  read.  You  can  return  it  to  me  by  an 
early  opportunity.  Louis  Blanc  is  pressing  me  for  an 
answer,  yes  or  no.  What  do  you  all  say  ?  What  do 
Meurice  and  Auguste  think,  and  Charles  and  Victor  ? 
It  might  be  of  use.  Besides,  it  would  be  some  work 
ready  to  hand  for  Charles.  It  seems  that  the  capital  is 
found  in  England.  But  would  there  not  be  a  disad- 
vantage in  confounding  me,  even  in  appearance  only, 
with  Louis  Blanc  and  Pierre  Leroux?  That  would 
deprive  me  of  the  isolation  of  my  present  position, 
would  connect  me  with  the  past  of  other  people,  and 
consequently  involve  my  future  in  complications  which 
are  foreign  to  me ;  it  would  rob  me  of  some  of  the 
purity  which  I  now  possess,  having  never  had  a  hand 
in  anything,  never  been  in  power,  never  put  forward 
theories  nor  made  mistakes,  but  simply  held  the  stand- 
ard when  it  was  raised,  and  risked  my  lif  e  on  the  days 
of  battle. 

All  is  going  on  well  here.  Some  of  the  refugees  are 
in  low  spirits  (among  them  Schoelcher,  who,  however, 
behaved  in  a  heroic  way),  but  I  cheer  them  up.  This 
morning  there  were  some  lines  about  me  by  a  student 
in  the  Sancho  (the  Charivari  of  Brussels).  I  decline 
invitations  to  dinner  and  little  ovations  in  family  cir- 
cles. I  require  my  time  for  work.  I  have  never  felt 
more  light-hearted  or  more  pleased  with  myself.  The 
events  in  Paris  suit  me.  They  reach  an  ideal  point, 
in  atrocity  as  well  as  grotesqueness.  There  are  crea- 
tures like  Troplong,  like  Dupin,  whom  I  cannot  help 
admiring.  I  like  complete  men.  These  wretches  are 
perfect  specimens.  They  attain  the  climax  of  infamy. 


68  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

I  admire  this.  Bonaparte  is  well  surrounded.  I  hear 
that  on  the  sous  his  eagle  will  have  its  head  under  its 
wing  ;  good.  As  for  the  7,500,000  votes,  even  if  there 
were  more  noughts,  I  should  despise  all  this  rubbish. 

My  dear,  good,  brave  souls,  you  are  my  joy  ;  I  em- 
brace you. 

x. 

To  ANDK&  VAN  HAssELT.1 

BRUSSELS,  6$  January,  1852. 

It  is  not  I  who  am  banished,  dear  sir,  but  liberty ;  it 
is  not  I  whom  am  exiled,  but  France.  France  an  out- 
cast from  truth,  from  justice,  from  greatness,  is  France 
in  exile  and  a  stranger  to  herself.  Let  us  pity  her  and 
love  her  more  than  ever. 

/  do  not  suffer.  I  look  and  wait.  I  have  fought, 
I  have  done  my  duty  ;  I  am  vanquished,  but  happy. 
A  conscience  at  rest  is  like  a  clear  sky  within  one's 
self. 

Soon  I  shall  have  my  family  with  me,  and  I  shall 
wait  quietly  for  God  to  restore  me  my  country.  But  I 
will  only  have  her  free. 

Ex  imo  corde. 

XI. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Thursday,  8th  January,  [1852]. 

I  write  to  you  from  my  room  on  the  Grande  Place, 
with  bright  sunshine  and  the  grand  Hotel  de  Ville 
before  me.  Yesterday  I  inspected  the  interior  of  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  with  the  Burgomaster  of  Brussels,  M.  de 
Brouckere,  who  is  most  courteously  showing  me  over 
the  town.  I  continue  to  be  the  object  of  a  number  of 

1  A  Belgian  writer  and  poet. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  69 

attentions  here.  The  Maupas  of  Brussels,  a  certain 
Baron  Hody,  who  sent  me  the  gendarmes  last  month, 
has  just  been  obliged  to  resign.  My  affair  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  his  discomfiture. 

We  are  told  here  that  Xavier  Duvieu,  Kiviere  the 
advocate,  and  Hippolyte  Magen  the  bookseller,  have 
been  transported  to  Cayenne.  This  morning  I  had 
a  visit  from  the  ex-constituant  Laussedat,  whose  pro- 
perty has  been  attached.  Horrors  are  still  going  on  in 
France.  As  for  Belgium,  do  not  be  the  least  uneasy. 
The  Ministers  and  the  Burgomaster  are  profuse  in  cor- 
dial assurances.  So  do  not  be  afraid.  I  am  a  sort  of 
centre  here.  My  hall  —  for  my  room  is  a  hall  —  is 
never  empty.  Sometimes  there  are  thirty  people  in 
it,  and  I  have  only  two  chairs  !  I  shall,  however,  make 
an  effort  to  exclude  visitors  ;  for  if  I  let  in  a  crowd  of 
intruders,  my  time  will  be  taken  up,  and  I  need  it  more 
than  ever.  I  am  working  hard  at  my  book  on  the  2d 
of  December.  The  Belgian  papers  call  Bonaparte 
Napoleon  le  Petit  So  I  shall  have  given  names  to 
the  two  phases  of  the  reactionary  movement,  Les  Bur- 
graves  and  Napoleon  le  Petit.  This  is  an  achieve- 
ment at  all  events,  —  in  default  of  something  better. 

I  embrace  you,  my  good  and  noble  wife.  Your 
letters  inspire  me  with  faith  and  strength.  Tell  my 
dear  little  daughter  and  all  the  dear  children  in  the 
Conciergerie  to  write  to  me. 

I  am  still  expecting  Charles  at  the  end  of  the  month. 

Be  careful  of  what  you  say. 


70  TH£  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Sunday,  llth  January,  [1852]. 

You  know  by  this  time  that  I  am  banished  by  the 
Bonaparte,  that  is  to  say,  expelled,  this  is  the  word 
which  the  fellow  uses.  Yesterday  I  was  at  Schoel- 
cher's ;  Charras  arrived,  and  we  all  three  had  a  talk. 
Charras  was  telling  us  about  his  arrest,  his  imprison- 
ment, his  release,  and  things  of  the  other  world,  when 
Labrousse  dropped  in  and  said  to  me :  "  You^are  ban- 
ished, with  sixty-eight  representatives  of  the  people^  as 
socialist  leaders.  .  .  .  I  have  seen  the  decree.  Your 
name  caught  my  eye  and  I  was  looking  for  you  to  tell 
you  of  it."  "  I  hope  that  my  name  is  in  the  list,  too," 
said  Charras.  "  And  mine  as  well !  "  said  Schoelcher. 
Whereupon  we  continued  our  conversation. 

This,  however,  ought  to  reassure  you  a  little  as  re- 
gards Belgium.  He  cannot  decently  arrest  us  imme- 
diately after  the  date  of  our  expulsion.  I  am  well 
aware  that  he  does  not  care  a  fig  for  decency.  But  all 
the  same  he  will  not  put  forth  his  hand  beyond  the 
frontier  to  seize  us  just  now.  A  few  months  hence, 
I  dare  say.  But  he  has  plenty  to  do  at  the  present 
moment.  So  set  your  mind  at  rest. 

I  am  living,  as  you  know,  in  the  Grande  Place.  The 
Burgomaster  of  Brussels  came  to  see  me.  I  said  to 
him  :  "  Do  you  know  that  people  say  in  Paris  that  the 
Bonaparte  will  have  me  arrested  here  and  carried  off 
at  night  in  my  lodging  by  police  agents  ?  "  M.  de 
Brouckere  (the  Burgomaster)  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  replied :  "  All  you  will  have  to  do  is  to  break  a 


TO  PAUL  MEURICE.  71 

pane  of  glass  and  call  for  help.  The  Hotel  de  Ville  is 
close  by.  There  are  three  sentinels.  You  will  be  well 
defended,  never  fear  !  " 

I  am  working  hard  at  the  narrative  of  the  2d  of 
December.  Every  day  materials  reach  me.  The  facts 
which  I  have  are  incredible.  J^wiUJbe  history,  and 
will  read  like  a  romance.  Evidently  the 


devoured  in  Europe.  When  shall  I  be  able  to  pub- 
lish it  ?  At  present  I  do  not  know. 

I  have  so  much  to  do  that  I  cannot  write  as  many 
letters  to  you  all  as  I  should  like.  I  should  spend  my 
life  in  writing  to  you  !  I  seem  to  be  talking  to  you, 
my  beloved  ones.  My  pen  travels  at  random.  The 
writing  is  illegible,  but  what  does  that  matter  ! 

A  subscription  is  being  got  up  here,  among  us  exiles, 
for  the  poorest  of  us.  I  asked  Schoelcher  if  there  was 
a  maximum.  He  said  fifteen  francs,  and  I  gave  him 
that  sum. 

Dearest,  I  fill  up  the  space  left  with  fond  love  to  you 
all.  Write  to  me,  all  of  you,  and  at  length. 

XIII. 
To  PAUL  MEURICE. 

BRUSSELS,  Sunday,  llth  January,  1852. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  My  wife  has  already  told  you 
how  pleased  I  was  with  your  letter,  and  how  much  I 
was  indebted  to  you  for  the  details  about  the  2d  of 
December.  Go  on  sending  me  everything  that  you  can 
collect.  I  am  writing  a  formidable  and  curious  book, 
which  will  begin  with  the  facts  and  end  with  ideas. 

Never  was  there  a  finer  opportunity  or  a  more  inex- 
haustible subject.  I  shall  treat  the  Bonaparte  in  proper 


72  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

fashion.     I  will  see  to  the  fellow's  historical  future.     I 
will  hand  him  down  to  posterity  by  the  ears. 

Give  my  respects  to  your  noble  wife,  and  accept  a 
warm  shake  of  the  hand  for  yourself. 

XIV. 

To  THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE  FRENCH  ACADEMY. 

BRUSSELS,  15th  January,  1852. 

MY  DEAR  COLLEAGUES,  —  The  political  malefactor, 
whose  government  lies  heavy  on  France  at  this  mo- 
ment, has  thought  fit  to  issue  a  decree  of  expulsion  in 
which  he  has  included  me. 

My  crime  is  as  follows  :  — 

I  have  done  my  duty. 

I  have,  by  every  available  means,  including  armed 
resistance,  defended  the  Constitution  proceeding  from 
universal  suffrage,  the  Kepublic,  and  the  law  against 
the  treachery  of  the  2d  of  December. 

Those  who  are  banished  are  forbidden,  by  order  of 
the  coup  d'etat,  to  reenter  France  on  pain  of  trans- 
portation to  Cayenne,  that  is  to  say,  on  pain  of  death. 

In  this  state  of  affairs,  in  face  of  the  brute  force 
which  is  triumphant,  and  against  which  I  renew  my  in- 
dignant protests  from  my  place  of  exile,  I  am  unable 
to  take  part  in  the  election  to  the  Academy  which  will 
be  held  on  the  22d  of  January,  and  I  beg  you,  my  dear 
colleagues,  to  accept,  with  the  expression  of  my  regret, 
the  assurance  of  my  heartfelt  cordiality  and  my  high 
consideration. 

VICTOR  HUGO, 
Representative  of  the  People. 


TO  VAN  HASSELT.  73 

XV. 

To  ANDRIS  VAN  HASSELT. 

16th  January,  1852. 

You  overwhelm  me,  my  dear  colleague ;  more  than 
that,  you  stock  me  with  furniture.  You  send  me  a 
sofa  to  Brussels,  —  me  who  cannot  even  give  you  a  seat 
in  the  Academy  in  Paris.  I  regret  it  for  our  sake,  for 
the  luckless  Forty.  The  French  Academy  would  be  a 
little  less  welche  if  it  were  to  elect  a  few  Belgians 
like  you. 

All  we  can  do  now  is  to  pity  her :  the  poor  Academy 
looks  quite  foolish  over  there.  Three  exiles  !  She  has 
not  had  such  a  time  since  1815.  Then  it  was  Louis 
XVIII.  who  expelled  the  other  Napoleon,  the  Great, 
from  the  Academy  of  Sciences. 

As  for  me,  I  recline  luxuriously  on  your  excellent 
sofa  and  read  your  admirable  books.  0  ingratitude 
of  man  !  I  begin  to  look  with  scorn  on  my  portman- 
teau, which  I  had  raised  to  the  dignity  of  sofa,  and 
which  you  have  deprived  of  its  employment.  It  is  all 
up,  I  am  transformed  from  a  Spartan  into  a  sybarite. 
I  shall  soon  come  and  pay  my  respects  to  Mme.  van 
Hasselt  and  shake  you  by  the  hand. 

XVI. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Saturday,  17th  January,  [1852]. ^ 

I  have  only  a  minute,  dearest  wife.  I  send  this  by 
Schoelcher's  servant,  an  old  woman  who  has  the  cour- 
age of  ten  men,  and  who  has  proved  it.  She  will  tell 
you  her  history.  Everything  is  going  on  fairly  well 


74  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

here.  All  the  Liberal  press  is  on  our  side,  and  warmly. 
I  send  you  some  extracts  from  it  about  my  banishment. 
A  number  of  papers  ^throughout  Belgium  have  re- 
pwntecT  my  sipteech  ojp47  on  the  return  of  the  Bona- 
partes.  It  jteedtrges  a  great  effect  here.  I  am  glad  to 
think  that  Charles  is  coming,  and  that  I  shall  see  him 
in  a  fortnight.  I  am  convinced  that  he  will  prove  him- 
self a  man  here. 

I  shall  probably  manage  to  build  a  literary  citadel, 
from  which  we  shall  bombard  the  Bonaparte.  If  not 
at  Brussels,  then  at  Jersey.  Hetzel  has  been  to  see 
me.  He  has  a  plan  similar  to  mine.  Again,  Belgium 
will  turn  towards  us,  I  think,  to  protect  its  bookselling 
trade.  I  send  you  two  pages  of  a  pamphlet.  Bead 
it,  and  give  it  to  the  inmates  of  the  Conciergerie  to 
read.  It  is  a  symptom.  Hetzel  told  me  yesterday 
that  a  book  with  the  title,  Le  Deux  Decembre,  par 
Victor  Hugo,  would  command  a  sale  of  at  least 
200,000  copies. 

When  we  are  all  four  free,  we  may  do  some  work 
|  together.  ISJEJvenement,  why  not  ?  A  political  propa- 
ganda at  London,  a  literary  one  at  Brussels,  that  is  my 
plan ;  two  centres,  and  our  flame  feeding  them  both. 

To  bring  the  matter  to  a  successful  issue,  I  must 
live  like  a  Stoic  and  a  poor  man,  and  say  to  them  all : 
I  have  no  need  of  money ;  I  can  wait,  you  see.  A 
man  in  want  of  money  is  at  the  mercy  of  speculators, 
and  is  lost.  Look  at  Dumas.  I  have  a  pallet,  a  table, 
and  a  couple  of  chairs.  I  work  all  day,  and  I  live 
at  the  rate  of  1200  francs  a  year.  They  feel  that  I 
am  strong,  and  I  am  overwhelmed  with  offers.  When 
we  have  settled  something,  you  will  join  me,  and  we 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  75 

will  make  the  whole  family  comfortable  again.  I  want 
you  to  be  all  happy  and  pleased,  —  you,  my  wife,  and 
you,  my  dear  daughter,  all  of  you  in  fact. 

I  think  that  Meurice,  Auguste,  Charles,  and  Victor 
might  write  a  history  of  the  period  from  February, 
'48,  down  to  the  2d  of  December,  together. 

Distribute  the  work  among  yourselves.  Each  will 
do  his  share  here.  We  will  work  at  the  same  table, 
with  the  same  inkstand,  and  the  same  thoughts.  I 
send  you  all,  in  the  Tour  d'Auvergne  and  La  Con- 
ciergerie,  the  fond  love  of  a  happy  exile. 

I  will  reply  to  ah1  of  you  by  the  next  post.  In  the 
mean  while  write  me,  all  of  you,  long  letters.  Dearest, 
do  not  forget  to  fill  up  the  sheets  well. 

By  the  way,  I  have  seen  the  filth  which  he  calls  his 
Constitution ! 

XVII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Monday,  19^  January,  [1852]. 

This  is  only  a  line,  which  will  reach  you  by  the 
post.  Poor  Charles  will  be  sad  at  leaving  you  ;  liberty 
here  is  not  equal  to  his  prison.  But  it  will  be  a  great 
happiness  to  me  to  see  him;  let  this  console  him. 
As  for  Victor,  a  kiss  for  him  on  his  two  cheeks ;  and 
you  too,  dear  little  daughter ;  do  not  be  jealous.  But 
how  brave  and  courageous  Victor  is !  He  writes  me 
the  calmest,  the  firmest,  the  serenest  letters  imaginable, 
—  with  seven  months  of  imprisonment  before  him  ! 
Well  done,  dear  child.  You  see  that  I  anticipated 
your  thoughts  in  calling  myself  "  the  happy  exile " 
in  my  last  letter. 


76  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

All  kinds  of  attentions  are  showered  on  me  here. 
There  is  no  "  people  "  at  present  in  Belgium  ;  only  a 
bourgeoisie.  It  hated  us  democrats  before  it  knew 
us.  The  Jesuit  papers,  which  abound  here,  had  made 
bogies  of  us.  Now  these  worthy  men  look  on  us  with 
respect.  They  are  furious  at  my  banishment,  which  I 
take  quite  easily.  The  other  day  a  city  magistrate 
was  reading  me  the  paper  in  the  restaurant.  All  at 
once  he  cried  out,  JEJxpulsion !  and  gave  the  table  a 
blow  with  his  fist  which  broke  his  jug  of  beer.  Just 
now  I  was  taking  my  early  cup  of  chocolate,  as  usual, 
at  the  Cafe  des  Mille  Colonnes.  A  young  man  comes 
up  to  me  and  says :  "  I  am  a  painter,  sir,  and  I  have 
come  to  ask  a  favor  of  you."  "  What  is  it  ?  "  "  The 
permission  to  sketch,  from  your  room,  the  view  of  the 
Grande  Place,  and  to  offer  you  the  picture."  And  he 
added :  "  There  are  only  two  names  in  the  world,  — 
Kossuth  and  Victor  Hugo." 

Similar  scenes  occur  every  day.  I  shall  be  obliged, 
on  account  of  this,  to  breakfast  at  another  cafe.  I 
attract  a  crowd  there,  and  that  bothers  me. 

The  burgomaster  comes  to  see  me  occasionally.  The 
other  day  he  said  to  me :  "I  am  at  your  disposal. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  "  "  One  thing."  «  What 
is  it  ?  "  "  Not  whitewash  the  front  of  your  Hotel  de 
Ville."  "  But  it  looks  better  white."  "  No,  it  is  better 
black."  "  Well,  you  are  an  authority.  I  promise  you 
that  the  front  shall  not  be  whitewashed.  But  is  there 
anything  I  can  do  for  yourself  ? "  "  One  thing." 
"  What  is  it  ?  "  "  Blacken  the  belfry."  (They  have 
restored  it,  not  badly,  but  it  is  white.)  "  Goodness ! 
blacken  the  belfry  !  but  it  looks  better  white."  "  No, 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  77 

it  is  better  black."  "  Very  well ;  I  will  speak  to  the 
town  councilors,  and  it  shall  be  done.  I  will  tell  them 
it  is  for  you." 

This  note  is  only  a  line,  by  the  way.  Continue  to 
write  me  long  letters.  Alas  !  when  shall  we  all  be 
together  again  ?  Oh,  if  only  a  good  proscription  could 
drive  you  all  out  of  France  ! 

Love  to  my  Adele.  Greetings  to  Auguste  and  Paul 
Meurice. 

XVIII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Tuesday,  27th  January,  [1852]. 

To-morrow  Charles  will  leave  the  Conciergerie. 
Dearest,  it  will  be  a  great  blow  to  you  to  lose  him  and 
a  great  joy  to  me  to  have  him.  I  want  him  on  his 
return  home  to  find  this  letter  from  me,  which  will  tell 
him  that  I  am  expecting  him  to  come  as  soon  as  he  can. 

This  is  my  mode  of  life  and  will  be  his  here  :  I  leave 
No.  16  at  the  end  of  the  month,  and  move  to  No.  27 
in  the  same  Grande  Place.  There  we  shall  have  two 
bedrooms,  one  with  a  fireplace  and  a  south  aspect. 
The  latter  is  large  and  we  can  work  together  in  it.  I 
propose  to  take  it  myself.  If,  however,  Charles,  who 
feels  the  cold,  would  like  the  room  with  a  fire  for  get- 
ting up  in  the  morning,  I  will  let  him  have  it  for  the 
rest  of  the  winter  and  move  into  it  myself  in  the  spring, 
if  we  are  still  at  Brussels.  I  have  taken  these  rooms 
at  No.  27  from  the  1st  of  February.  As  for  expendi- 
ture, it  must  be  most  strictly  limited,  as  the  future  is 
more  than  doubtful,  and  resources  which  are  seemingly 
safest  may  fail  us  altogether  or  for  a  time.  I  live  on 
100  francs  a  month.  Here  is  the  daily  estimate  :  — 


78  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Rent 1  fr.  00 

Breakfast  (a  cup  of  chocolate) .        .        .        .  0  f r.  50 

Dinner         . 1  f r.  25 

Firing 0  f  r.  25 

3fr.  00 

That  makes  90  francs  for  myself.  The  balance  (10 
francs)  is  for  washing,  tips,  etc.  Charles  and  I  will 
therefore  spend  200  francs  a  month  between  us.  In 
this  way  we  shall  go  on  working  until  some  arrange- 
ment is  made  here  or  in  London.  Once  a  market  for 
our  writings  is  assured,  we  shall  be  able  to  add  to  our 
own  and  the  general  comfort.  In  seven  months,  dear- 
est, you  will  all  join  us.  By  that  time  the  situation 
will  have  become  clearer.  We  shall  have  settled  some- 
thing. I  shall  have  sold  all  or  part  of  my  manuscripts 
or  my  reprints,  and  we  shall  all  be  able  to  found,  some- 
where or  other,  in  some  beautiful  and  safe  spot,  a 
happy  colony. 

Talking  of  that,  Brofferio  has  written  me  a  charm- 
ing letter  asking  me  to  come  to  Piedmont  and  offering 
me  a  villa  on  the  Lago  Maggiore.  So  cheer  up.  And 
when  I  speak  of  aZ/,  of  course  I  mean  my  four  sons. 
Meurice  and  Auguste  belong  to  the  family. 

I  write  this  in  haste,  dearest.  To-morrow,  or  the 
day  after  at  latest,  Mme.  K.,  who  is  spending  a  few 
days  here,  will  bring  you  another  letter,  and  letters 
for  Auguste,  for  Paul  Meurice,  for  my  Victor,  for 
my  darling  daughter,  and  for  Charles,  if  he  has  not 
arrived  here.  Let  me  know  the  day  and  hour  of  his 
arrival. 

Send  me  my  portfolio  and  my  albums  of  sketches  by 
Charles.  Before  sending  them,  let  Paul  Meurice,  Au- 


TO  MME.  VICTOR   HUGO.  79 

guste,  and  Mme.  Bouclier  each  choose  a  sketch  from  the 
albums. 

Dearest  mamma,  in  a  couple  of  days  you  will  get  a 
longer  letter.  I  think  it  is  best  to  sublet,  and  I  will 
explain  to  you  what  I  consider  feasible.  In  the  mean 
while  continue  to  be  radiant.  Melanie's  remark  is 
stupid  and  worthy  of  her.  Yes,  be  radiant.  We  are 
passing  through  a  useful  and  splendid  period  of  adver- 
sity. Everything  that  is  happening  is  of  use,  to  France 
as  a  lesson,  to  our  children  as  an  ordeal,  to  us  both  as 
a  bond  of  love  and  a  hallowing  of  our  life. 

I  approve  beforehand  of  all  that  you  do  and  ah1  that 
you  say.  I  know  that  you  have  a  wise  mind  and  a 
great  heart.  You  could  not  have  given  Villemain  a 
better  answer.  He  is  a  friend,  however,  and  I  will 
write  to  him. 

One  more  word  for  you  all.     I  love  you  dearly. 

XIX. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 
BRUSSELS,  Wednesday,  28th  January,  [1852]. 

I  begin,  dearest,  by  thanking  you  for  everything. 
This  letter  will  be  brought  to  you  by  Madame  de  Kis- 
seleff.  I  spent  a  most  pleasant  evening  at  her  house 
yesterday.  She  invited  me  to  meet  Girardin,  whom,  in 
fact,  I  had  not  seen.  "We  had  called  on  each  other 
without  meeting.  Girardin  said  to  me  :  "  Finish  your 
book  quickly,  if  you  want  it  to  appear  before  the  end  of 
this  regime."  I  found  him,  however,  in  certain  respects, 
skeptical  and  Bonapartist.  He  said  to  me  :  "  Mme.  de 
Girardin  is  as  red  as  you  are.  She  is  furious,  and  she 
talks  of  '  the  bandit '  like  you."  He  believes  that  the 


80  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Bonaparte  will  fall  in  three  months,  unless  he  goes  to 
war,  —  which  Persigny  will  urge  him  to  do.  In  that 
case  Belgium,  he  said,  would  be  invaded  at  the  end  of 
March.  It  would  be  necessary  to  seek  a  place  of  safety 
before  that. 

There  has  been  a  ^disposition  to  expel  me  from  here. 
The  Belgian  ministry  stood  its  ground,  and  was  shaken 
by  it.  Kead  what  I  write  to  Victor  on  this  subject. 
By  the  way,  you  must  all  read  all  the  letters  which  I 
address  to  each.  It  is  the  same  letter  that  I  continue, 
and,  as  I  suppose  that  you  all  read  it,  I  do  not  repeat 
facts.  It  is  also  necessary  to  be  very  prudent  at  the 
Conciergerie.  Read  my  letters,  and  speak  of  them 
only  among  yourselves.  Be  on  your  guard  against  the 
police,  —  always  at  hand  and  on  the  lookout.  You 
must  be  more  watched  now  than  ever. 

All  that  you  tell  me  of  the  effect  of  the  spoliation 
decree  is  wonderfully  true  and  just.  That  epitome  of 
every  crime,  the  Second  of  December,  has  produced  less 
impression  on  the  bourgeois,  whether  shopkeeper  or 
banker,  than  this  confiscation.1  To  meddle  with  the 
law  is  a  trifle ;  to  lay  hands  on  a  family  is  everything. 
The  poor  bourgeoisie  has  its  heart  in  its  breeches' 
pocket.  It  is  improving  a  little,  however,  they  say,  and 
the  Liberal  opposition  is  reappearing.  This  is  a  good 
sign  ;  and  what  I  admire  is  the  courage  of  the  women. 
Everywhere  the  women  are  raising  their  heads  before 
the  men.  I  applaud  them  with  all  my  heart. 

Now  let  us  talk  of  Charles.  He  is  coming  here. 
He  must  work,  or  die  of  ennui  and  vacuity.  But  at 
what  ?  There  are  no  paying  papers,  and  besides  the 

1  The  confiscation  of  the  property  of  the  Orleans  family. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  81 

Belgian  government  would  not  allow  a  French  writer 
to  make  use  of  the  liberty  of  the  press  here.  What  is 
to  be  done?  What  useful  work  is  there  for  him? 
Here  is  what  has  occurred  to  me :  in  the  first  place, 
what  I  have  already  written  to  Charles,  the  four  to 
write  a  history  of  the  last  four  years  with  the  help 
of  the  Evenement  collection,  and  distribute  the  work 
among  themselves  before  Charles  leaves ;  Charles  would 
do  his  share  here,  and  the  book  would  sell  very  well,  in 
a  finished  state ;  this  is  the  way  things  are  managed 
in  Belgium. 

Secondly,  why  should  Charles  not  see  Houssaye  and 
Gautier  before  he  starts  ?  He  might  send  them  from 
here  non-political  letters  on  Belgium  for  the  Revue 
de  Paris,  which  he  would  do  admirably.  It  seems  to 
me  that  he  might  make  a  hundred  francs  or  so  a  month 
in  this  way.  I  would  keep  him,  and  that  would  give 
him  pocket-money. 

Think  this  over ;  hold  a  consultation  in  the  great 
council  of  the  Conciergerie.  Let  Charles  take  the 
advice  of  our  two  dear  burgraves,  Auguste  Vacquerie 
and  Paul  Meurice. 

Thank  Beranger  for  me.  As  for  Villemain,  I  am 
grateful  to  him  for  everything.  I  am  grateful  to  him 
for  having  made  the  offer  to  you,  and  to  you  for  hav- 
ing refused  it.  Dearest,  I  am  delighted  to  find  you  so 
completely  at  one  with  me. 

I  send  you  all  my  heart,  my  thought,  my  life.     I 

send  you,  you  specially,  my  fondest  love. 
VOL.  n.  6 


82  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XX. 

To  ANGELO  BROFFERIO. 

BRUSSELS,  2d  February,  1852. 
MY    ELOQUENT    AND    DEAR     COLLEAGUE, I    thank 

you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  As  orator,  you 
answered  me  from  your  tribune ;  as  exile,  you  bid  me 
welcome. 

I  was  glad  of  your  sympathy  as  a  politician  and  a 
citizen ;  I  am  proud  of  the  offer  of  hospitality  which 
you  make  me  with  such  dignity,  which  I  should  accept 
with  such  pleasure. 

I  do  not  know  what  Providence  has  in  store  for 
me ;  imperious  public  duties  have  a  greater  call  on  me 
than  ever.  It  may  be  necessary  for  me  not  to  leave  the 
frontier  nearest  to  Paris.  Brussels  and  London  are 
posts  of  combat.  The  writer  must  now  take  the  place 
of  the  speaker ;  I  shall  continue  with  the  pen  the  war 
which  I  waged  against  despots  with  my  voice.  It  js 
the  Bonaparte,  the  Bonaparte  alone,  whom  I  must  now 
grapple  with ;  to  do  this  I  may  have  to  remain  here  or 
go  to  London.  But  depend  on  it  that  the  day  when  I 
can  leave  Belgium  or  England,  it  will  be  for  Turin.  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  grasp  you  by  the  hand.  What  a 
number  of  things  you  combine  in  yourself !  You  are 
Italy,  that  is  to  say,  glory  ;  you  are  Piedmont,  that  is  to 
say,  liberty ;  you  are  Brofferio,  that  is  to  say,  eloquence. 
Yes,  I  certainly  shall  go  and  see  you  before  long,  and 
see  your  villa  on  the  Lago  Maggiore ;  I  shall  visit  you, 
to  find  all  that  I  love,  blue  sky,  sunshine,  untrammeled 
thought,  fraternal  hospitality,  nature,  poetry,  friend- 
ship. When  my  second  son  has  come  out  of  prison,  I 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  83 

shall  be  able  to  realize  this  dream  and  gather  my  family 
around  your  fireside. 

We  shah1  speak  of  France,  now,  alas !  resembling 
Italy,  fallen  and  great ;  we  shall  speak  of  the  inevitable 
future,  of  the  assured  triumph,  of  the  last  necessary 
war,  of  the  great  federal  Continental  parliament,  in 
which  I  shah1  perhaps  have  the  supreme  joy  of  sitting 
by  your  side. 

XXI. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Saturday,  14th  February,  [1852]. 

Do  not  say,  dearest,  that  I  have  no  time  to  read. 
Write  me  nice  long  letters,  I  beg  of  you.  Do  not  get 
out  of  the  sweet  habit  of  having  long  talks  with  me  on 
paper.  Your  letter,  which  is  so  short,  reached  us  yes- 
terday evening,  Friday.  We  had  not  had  any  for  ten 
days  after  Charles's  arrival.  I  have  very  little  time  for 
writing.  I  get  up  at  eight  (I  wake  up  Charles,  who 
generally  stays  in  bed  in  spite  of  this),  and  then  I  set 
to  work.  I  go  on  working  up  to  twelve ;  then  comes 
breakfast.  Up  to  three  I  have  visitors.  At  three,  I 
begin  work  again.  At  five,  dinner.  Digestion  (a  stroll 
or  a  visit)  up  to  ten  o'clock.  At  ten  I  come  home  and 
work  till  twelve.  At  twelve  I  make  my  bed  and  retire 
to  rest.  I  make  my  bed  for  the  following  reason  :  the 
sheets  are  about  the  size  of  napkins  and  the  blankets 
no  bigger  than  table-covers.  I  have  been  obliged  to 
invent  a  plan  of  arranging  them  so  as  to  have  my  feet 
covered,  and  every  night  I  make  my  bed.  Charles 
sleeps  through  it  all. 

I  promised  our  dear  Paul  Meurice  a  drawing.  The 
one  out  of  the  small  album  does  not  count.  By  the 


84  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

side  of  my  bed,  in  front  of  the  looking-glass,  behind 
the  lacquered  box  with  a  small  lid,  there  is  a  large 
well-executed  sketch  representing  two  castles,  of  which 
one  is  in  the  distance.  Have  a  white  margin  of  about 
three  inches  put  round  it,  and  give  it  to  Paul  Meurice 
from  me.  Thank  him  for  his  charming  letter.  Tell 
Auguste,  —  who  writes  to  me,  as  he  always  does,  a 
letter  full  of  profound  observations,  —  tell  Meurice  and 
Victor,  that  I  will  write  them  the  lines  they  want.  The 
least  I  can  do  for  them  is  to  send  them  a  few  stanzas 
in  their  imprisonment. 

Charles  is  very  kind  and  nice.  He  makes  up  to  me 
a  little  for  the  separation  from  you  all.  The  difficult 
thing  is  to  make  him  work.  Up  to  the  present  I  have 
only  been  able  to  get  out  of  him  a  few  pages,  —  very 
well  done,  however,  —  on  what  took  place  in  the  Con- 
ciergerie.  Tell  our  three  prisoners  to  put  down  their 
reminiscences  and  those  of  the  others,  and  to  send  me 
all  the  facts  that  they  can. 

I  return  to  Charles.  Pending  L'histoire  des  quatre 
annees,  which  Hetzel  thinks  an  excellent  thing  and 
likely  to  sell  well,  I  told  him  to  write  a  book  on  his  six 
months'  imprisonment  and  our  journey  to  Lille.  La 
Conciergerie  et  les  Caves  would  be  a  good,  interesting 
volume.  He  promises  to  do  it,  he  is  as  gentle  as  a 
lamb,  but  he  does  not  begin.  I  do  not  complain,  for  I 
don't  want  you  to  scold  him.  I  work  enough  for  all. 
Only  I  am  afraid  that  time  will  be  wasted.  The  years 
fly  by  and  habits  are  formed. 

The  other  night  he  had  gone  out  and  I  was  at  work. 
At  twelve  o'clock  a  knock  at  the  door.  "  Come  in." 
"  Monsieur,"  says  the  landlady,  "  has  your  son  a 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  85 

key?"  (of  the  street  door).  " No,  he  has  not."  "Then 
I  will  wait  up  for  him."  "No,  don't  do  that."  "What 
then  ?  "  "  You  go  to  bed.  I  will  come  down  into 
your  shop  [the  entrance  is  a  tobacco  shop] ;  I  can  write 
just  as  well  at  your  counter  as  at  my  table,  and  I  will 
sit  up  for  him." 

I  went  down  to  the  counter,  perched  myself  on  the 
shopwoman's  high  stool,  and  wrote  there.  At  three  in 
the  morning  Charles  came  in,  and  was  astounded  to 
find  me  scribbling  at  the  counter  and  sitting  up  for 
him.  I  did  not  reproach  him,  but  since  then  he  has 
never  come  in  later  than  twelve. 

As  regards  my  negotiations  .with  the  booksellers, 
people  in  Belgium  are  afraid,  and  a  free  book-trade  in 
this  country,  even  for  purely  literary  works,  is  im- 
possible at  the  present  moment.  The  success  which  I 
thought  within  my  grasp  eludes  me.  So  we  must  wait 
for  a  time.  Hetzel  is  going  to  London  and  will  try  to 
get  it  done  there.  Ah1  this  makes  it  necessary  for  us 
to  adhere  strictly  to  our  economical  life  of  exiles,  living 
on  three  francs  a  day.  However,  I  give  Charles  a  little 
pocket-money  occasionally.  It  all  goes  in  smoke. 

Just  now  there  was  a  knock  at  my  door.  I  left  off 
my  letter.  It  was  the  manager  of  the  Varietes,  M. 
Carpier,  who  had  come  from  Paris,  he  said,  on  purpose 
to  see  me.  He  asked  me,  with  many  entreaties  and 
offers,  to  write  a  play  for  Frederic,  Don  Cesar.  He 
said  a  great  deal  about  Auguste,  whose  eminent  success 
as  a  dramatist  he  foresees.  He  seemed  to  me  an  in- 
telligent man.  He  told  me  that  Maupas  had  uttered  a 
cry  of  delight  at  the  idea  of  a  play  from  me,  fancying, 
no  doubt,  that  literature  would  take  me  away  from  poli- 


86  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

tics.  I  told  him  that  I  would  see  about  it  after  the 
publication  of  my  book,  but  that  I  could  only  break 
silence  now  by  a  slap  in  the  face  to  the  coup  d'etat. 
He  offered  to  bring  his  company  to  rehearse  at  Brussels 
or  in  London,  wherever  I  might  be.  I  am  to  see  him 
again. 

Farewell  for  the  present,  dear,  dearest  wife.  My 
love  to  Dede,  and  a  great  deal  to  yourself. 

XXII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  22d  February,  [1852]. 

I  begin  by  telling  you  that  you  are  a  noble  and  ad- 
mirable woman.  Your  letters  bring  tears  to  my  eyes. 
Everything  is  in  them,  —  dignity,  strength,  simplicity, 
courage,  reason,  serenity,  tenderness.  When  you  dis- 
cuss politics  you  do  it  well,  your  judgment  is  good  and 
your  remarks  to  the  point.  When  you  discuss  busi- 
ness and  family  matters,  you  show  your  large,  kind 
heart.  How,  then,  can  you  imagine  that  I  have  a 
shadow  of  an  arriere-pensee  with  you,  or  with  any 
one  ?  What  have  I  to  hide  from  you,  —  from  you 
above  all  people  ? 

My  life  will  bear  the  closest  scrutiny  and  so  will  my 
inmost  thoughts.  You  do  not  like  to  speak  to  me 
about  money  matters.  I  can  quite  understand  it.  We 
are  poor,  and  we  must  try  to  pass  with  credit  through 
an  ordeal  which  may  come  to  an  end  soon,  but  which 
may  last  long.  I  wear  out  my  old  shoes  and  my  old 
clothes  ;  that  is  easy  enough.  You  have  to  bear  priva- 
tions, pain,  penury  even ;  that  is  not  so  easy  because 
you  are  a  wife  and  mother,  but  you  do  it  gladly  and 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  87 

nobly.  How,  then,  could  I  mistrust  you  ?  About  what 
and  for  what  reason  ?  Is  not  everything  which  I  have 
yours  ?  Do  not  say  your  money,  say  our  money.  I 
am  the  administrator,  that  is  all.  As  soon  as  I  see  my 
poor  sons  working  as  I  do,  as  soon  as  I  find  a  market 
and  a  publisher  somewhere,  at  Brussels  or  in  London, 
no  matter  where,  provided  it  is  in  a  free  country,  as 
soon  as  I  have  sold  a  manuscript,  then  I  will  hold  my 
hand  and  make  the  whole  family  more  comfortable.  In 
the  mean  while,  we  must  suffer  a  little.  As  for  me,  it 
is  your  sufferings  which  pain  me  and  not  my  own. 

All  this  accounts  for  my  strictness  in  the  matter  of 
expenditure.  Our  income  is  not  yet  assured,  and  at 
present  does  not  cover  our  expenses.  That  will  come, 
but  is  not  the  case  yet.  How  can  you  see  any  distrust 
in  that  ?  It  is  merely  cautiousness,  such  as  I  have 
with  regard  to  myself.  You  know  well  that  all  my  life 
through  I  have  begun  privations  and  economies  with 
myself.  Dearest,  I  am  ready  to  make  over  our  whole 
fortune  to  you  ;  can  you  doubt  it  ?  I  would  only  say 
to  you  :  Be  careful.  One  fine  day  I  may  fail  you,  and 
we  must  try  to  have  the  capital  intact  after  I  am  gone. 

The  dignity  of  your  character  even  requires  it.  I 
want  you  always  to  be  independent  of  everybody. 
Live  as  you  have  always  lived,  whether  with  me  or 
without  me,  proudly,  worthily,  looking  down  upon  gov- 
ernments, men,  and  things,  and  not  caring  for  or  need- 
ing protection.  That  is  the  future  which  I  should  like 
for  you  and  for  the  children.  This  is  the  reason,  I 
repeat  it,  of  my  present  strictness. 

I  see  from  the  answer  which  Charles  gives  you  and 
which  he  has  shown  me  that  you  scolded  him  a  little  in 


88  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

your  letter.  Do  not  scold  him.  I  want  to  see  him 
pleased  and  happy  by  my  side,  and  if  he  will  not  work, 
how  can  we  help  it  ?  Some  day  or  other,  I  hope,  rea- 
son will  come,  something  will  tempt  him,  and  he  will 
set  to  work.  In  the  mean  while  I  try  to  make  him 
happy.  I  do  not  reproach  him,  I  give  him  complete 
liberty,  and  I  do  what  I  can  to  make  him  like  living 
with  me.  I  am  sorry  that  he  does  not  tell  you  any- 
thing of  this  in  his  letter.  Some  day  my  children  will 
know  all  that  I  have  been  to  them. 

My  book  is  getting  on.  I  could  finish  it  in  a  week 
(working  at  night),  if  necessary.  But  I  do  not  see  any 
need  for  hurry.  Every  day  I  receive  fresh  information 
which  obliges  me  to  write  parts  of  it  over  again.  This 
is  a  great  nuisance.  I  am  not  afraid  of  work,  but 
I  dislike  work  that  is  thrown  away.  I  am  not  sure 
whether  I  shall  add  the  events  in  the  provinces  to 
those  in  Paris.  That  might  make  it  long  and  monot- 
onous. Besides,  Paris  alone  decides  everything,  and 
entirely  decided  the  Second  of  December,  as  usual. 
Probably  I  shall  only  give  a  summary  of  the  most  in- 
teresting events  in  the  provinces,  just  enough  to  show 
up  the  fiction  of  the  alleged  excesses.  And  then  I 
think  it  is  better,  both  for  the  propaganda  and  for  the 
sale,  that  the  book  should  be  in  one  volume. 

As  regards  the  paper,1  as  at  present  advised,  I  agree 
with  Auguste.  Nothing  can  be  done  under  this  law. 
If  a  literary  paper  could  be  made  a  success,  we  might 
think  about  it,  however.  Politics  would  be  confined 
to  facts,  and  a  splendid  literary  opposition  would  be 

1  A  proposal  had  been  made  to  republish  the  Evenement  in  a  literary 
form. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  89 

started.  But  would  this  be  permitted  ?  Consult  among 
yourselves.  You  are  nearer  the  scene  of  action. 

Talking  of  good  politics  and  good  literature,  here  is 
a  noble  letter  :  — 

MONSIEUR,  —  As  I  do  not  admit  your  right  to  plun- 
der my  family,  I  cannot  admit  your  right  to  assign  me 
an  allowance  in  the  name  of  France.  I  refuse  the 
dowry.  HELEKE  D' ORLEANS. 

Charles  will  tell  you  that  I  took  him  to  Louvain.  I 
had  a  great  reception  there.  The  librarian  was  waiting 
for  me  at  the  library,  the  director  of  the  Academy  at 
the  Academy,  the  city  magistrate  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville. 
I  was  presented  with  a  medal.  The  cure  was  not  wait- 
ing for  me  at  the  church.  I  went  there,  however. 

O  ' 

The  town  was  all  agog.  The  students  of  the  Univer- 
sity followed  me  in  the  streets  at  a  distance.  One  of 
them  wrote  to  me  as  follows  :  "  We  did  not  cheer  you 
for  fear  of  offending  our  poor  little  government." 

Dearest,  I  am  finishing  this  at  ten  o'clock  at  night. 
I  am  going  to  send  it  to  Serriere,  who  starts  to-morrow 
morning.  Several  representatives  —  Yvan,  Labrousse, 
Barthelemy  —  are  with  me  who  are  talking  of  you,  and 
who  send  you  their  respects.  I  will  write  to  Abel  and 
to  Beranger.  I  will  write  to  my  Victor  and  my  brave 
and  charming  little  Adele.  I  say  "  little,"  although 
she  is  as  big  as  you,  but  I  still  see  her  a  tiny  little 
thing,  and  saying,  Papa  e  i. 

Thank  Meurice  for  his  kind  and  interesting  letter, 
and  embrace  all  my  inmates  of  the  Conciergerie.  Love 
to  you,  to  you  all. 


90  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


XXIII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

25^  February,  [1852]. 

I  have  spent  the  day  with  Marc  Dufraisse,  he  dic- 
tating to  me,  and  I  writing.  In  this  way  I  have 
scribbled  twenty  closely  written  pages  without  realizing 
it,  the  result  of  which  is,  dearest,  that  I  am  worn  out 
this  evening.  I  wanted  to  write  to  all  my  Conciergerie, 
I  wanted  to  write  to  my  darling  A  dele,  and  I  have 
hardly  time  to  send  you  a  dozen  lines.  The  big  packet 
must  be  for  next  time. 

Yesterday  I  invited  Girardin  to  dinner,  and  we 
talked  together  very  cordially.  He  told  me  of  an  arti- 
cle of  Gautier's  which  touches  me.  Thank  Gautier  for 
me.  Girardin  said  that  it  was  charming,  and  promised 
to  send  it  me,  as  well  as  one  by  Janin.  So  you  must 
thank  Janin,  too.  I  am  sure  that  thanks  coming  from 
you  will  please  him  still  more  than  if  they  came  from 
me.  I  have  just  read  a  good  paragraph  in  the  Eman- 
cipation, a  Jesuit  and  Bonapartist  paper  here.  I  tran- 
scribe it  for  you.  The  subject  is  the  Corps  Legisla- 
tif:  — 

The  elections  are  perfectly  free.  Yet  a  paper  which  should 
venture  to  suggest  the  name  of  Victor  Hugo  or  of  Charras  to  the 
electors  would  inevitably  be  suspended. 

This  is  delightful.  Here  is  what  the  Messager  des 
Chambres  says  on  the  same  subject :  — 

What  the  ministry  of  the  interior  concedes  ostensibly,  freedom 
of  voting,  the  police  has  orders  to  withdraw.  Thus  in  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Antoine  several  workmen,  heads  of  families,  have  been  threat- 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  91 

ened  with  a  prosecution  for  clandestine  printing,  —  for  having 
printed,  with  one  of  the  small  lithographic  presses  which  every 
tradesman  possesses,  tickets  with  the  name  of  Victor  Hugo. 

Of  all  the  exiles,  the  illustrious  poet  is  the  one  for  whom  M. 
Bonaparte  has  the  most  hatred :  it  is  personal  animosity,  enhanced 
by  the  constantly  increasing  popularity  of  the  poet.  Detested  in 
aristocratic  and  middle-class  circles  before  the  coup  d'etat,  M. 
Hugo  has  regained  all  the  ground  lost  in  them.  He  is  now  consid- 
ered one  of  the  most  energetic  champions  of  law  and  liberty. 

Shrove  Tuesday  here  is  very  frolicsome,  and  rather 
farcical.  From  my  room  on  the  Grande  Place  I  could 
see  the  centre  of  the  masquerades.  My  window  was 
a  box  for  the  play.  The  Flemings  have  a  sleepy  look 
all  the  year  through.  On  Shrove  Tuesday  there  comes 
an  access  of  gayety  which  makes  them  wild.  They  are 
very  funny  in  this  state.  They  get  five  at  a  time  into 
the  same  blouse,  with  enormous  hats  on,  and  dance 
together.  They  smear  their  faces,  cover  themselves 
with  flour,  paint  themselves  black,  red,  and  yellow ;  it 
is  killing.  Yesterday  the  Grande  Place  was  full  of 
scenes  from  Teniers  and  Callots.  And  then  deafening 
blasts  from  trumpets  all  the  night.  Under  my  window 
I  read  the  following  notice :  Societe  des  Crocodiles. 
Dernier  grand  bal. 

My  book  is  getting  on.  I  am  pleased  with  it.  I 
read  some  friends  a  few  pages,  which  produced  a 
great  effect.  I  believe  that  it  will  be  a  signal  victory 
of  intelligence  over  brute  force,  —  inkstand  against 
cannon.  The  inkstand  will  smash  the  cannon. 

I  feel  that  I  am  liked  by  everybody  here.  The  bur- 
gomaster and  the  town  councilors  are  most  attentive. 
I  believe  that  I  rule  the  town  a  little.  Really,  all  these 
Belgians  are  very  nice.  They  say  that  they  hate  the 


92  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

French.  At  heart  they  have  a  great  respect  for  them. 
/  am  quite  fond  of  the  worthy  Belgians. 

My  darling  daughter,  play  my  air  Brama  from  time 
to  time,  and  think  of  me  while  doing  so.  Tell  your 
dear  mother  to  write  me  a  long  letter,  and  set  her  the 
example.  My  Victor,  do  you  do  the  same.  Send  me 
plenty  of  big  sheets  from  everybody,  beginning  with 
yourself.  I  long  to  read  your  letters,  and  to  embrace 
you  all. 

Love  to  Auguste  and  Meurice.  Have  you  given 
Meurice  the  large  sketch  with  the  two  castles  ? 

XXIV. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Friday,  27th  February,  [1852]. 

M.  Coste,  of  the  Evenement,  will  take  you  this  note. 
Dearest,  he  is  fortunate :  he  will  see  you  and  all  the 
others. 

I  have  been  rather  unwell  lately.  Always  at  work, 
going  out  very  little,  hardly  taking  any  exercise,  I  who 
used  to  be  such  a  great  walker ;  this  made  me  feel  out 
of  sorts.  I  was  feverish  for  a  few  days,  but  it  is  gone 
now. 

Charles  and  I  still  get  on  nicely  and  quietly  together. 
If  he  would  only  set  to  work  seriously  and  of  his  own 
accord,  I  should  be  almost  happy  here,  if  the  word 
"  happy "  can  be  used  when  you  are  not  here,  my 
beloved,  noble  wife ;  when  you  are  not  here,  my  dear 
children ;  when  you  are  absent,  you  who  are  the  joy  of 
my  life ! 

We  live  with  our  eyes  turned  toward  Paris,  awaiting 
your  letters,  dearest ;  awaiting  a  big  packet  from  the 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  93 

Conciergerie.  It  is  raining ;  the  weather  is  cold ;  it  is 
Lent ;  we  feel  lonely.  We  sadly  want  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine. It  depends  on  you  to  send  it  us. 

Tell  Victor,  tell  Auguste,  tell  M.  and  Mme.  Paul 
Meurice  that  Charles  and  I  are  constantly  talking  of 
them.  Yesterday,  at  the  exiles'  table,  Charles  recited 
some  lines  of  Auguste's  which  set  the  whole  colony  in 
a  roar.  It  was  the  story  of  Madame  Revel  replaced  by 
Philippe-le-BeL  You  probably  know  it. 

Embrace  them  all  for  me,  —  even  the  men,  and  es- 
pecially the  women. 

This  is  only  a  line  to  bid  you  good-morning,  —  a 
small  interruption  in  my  work.  Give  my  Victor-Toto 
and  my  Adele-Dede  two  kisses  for  me. 

xxv. 

To  THE  SAME. 

BRUSSELS,  17th  March,  [1852]. 

Charles  was  getting  into  idle  ways,  and  wasting  his 
time.  On  the  other  hand,  he  said  he  wanted  gloves, 
cabs,  pocket-money,  etc.  I  have  made  an  arrangement 
with  him.  I  am  to  give  him  fifty  francs  a  month  for 
his  personal  expenses,  and  he  is  to  get  up  in  the  morn- 
ing at  eight,  as  I  do,  and  work  in  my  room  until  eleven. 
On  the  strength  of  these  three  hours  I  am  to  let  him 
off  work  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  He  accepted  with 
enthusiasm ;  he  got  up  and  worked  the  first  and  the 
second  day  ;  but  he  is  falling  off  already.  Yesterday 
he  worked  for  half  an  hour,  and  to-day  not  at  all.  I 
scolded  him  a  little.  At  first  he  protested,  in  his  usual 
way ;  then  he  understood,  and  I  hope  that  from  to- 
morrow he  will  be  regular.  These  fifty  francs  a  month 


94  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

will  inconvenience  me,  but  I  had  rather  he  did  not  get 
into  debt,  and  that  he  worked  a  little.  You  approve 
what  I  have  done,  I  hope?  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  had 
you  with  me,  and  how  I  want  you  here  to  keep  him 
up  to  the  mark !  Do  not  scold  him  for  it,  however. 
Perhaps  he  will  really  set  to  work  now.  Behave  as  if 
I  had  told  you  nothing  about  it. 

His  tastes  lie  in  the  direction  of  small  plays,  light 
poetry,  of  facile  and  sterile  things.  I  try  to  check  this, 
and  to  direct  his  mind  towards  serious  work,  calculated 
to  promote  his  views  and  be  of  service  to  him  in  the 
future.  I  insist  on  his  writing  his  book  on  the  Con- 
ciergerie.  Do  you  speak  to  him  about  it,  too. 

As  for  me,  you  can  picture  my  life.  It  is  still  the 
same.  I  get  up  at  eight ;  work ;  breakfast  at  eleven, 
—  we  have  got  beyond  chocolate,  Charles  preferred  a 
cutlet ;  visitors  up  to  three  ;  work  till  five  ;  table  d'hote 
dinner,  with  Charles,  Dumas,  Noel  Parfait,  Bancel,  etc., 
up  to  ten  ;  from  ten  to  twelve  work.  I  dine  out  some- 
times, but  not  often.  There  is  a  nice  rich  old  Polish 
lady  here,  —  Mme.  de  Laska,  —  who  is  very  fond  of 
Charles.  I  have  dined  there  once.  Last  week  I  met 
Girardin,  Quinet,  and  Dumas,  when  dining  with  a  pub- 
lisher here,  —  M.  Muquardt.  The  Brussels  publishers 
are  afraid  of  my  book  on  the  Second  of  December. 
I  shall  evidently  be  obliged  to  publish  it  in  London. 
The  important  point,  however,  is  to  do  it.  It  will  cer- 
tainly be  published,  —  how,  or  by  whom,  does  not 
matter. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  95 

XXVI. 
To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  IQth  March,  [1852]. 

Dearest,  you  will  have  received  through  Mme.  Noel 
Parfait  a  letter  for  M.  Duboy,  advocate  of  the  court 
of  appeal.  It  is  of  great  importance  to  get  the  reply 
to  this  letter  as  soon  as  possible.  The  following  will 
explain. 

I  want  details  of  what  took  place  at  the  High  Court 
on  the  Second  of  December  for  my  book.  Marc  Du- 
fraisse  has  written  to  M.  Duboy,  whom  he  knows,  for 
these  details.  Try  to  get  a  reply  from  M.  Duboy.  Send 
to  his  house.  Perhaps  it  would  not  be  advisable  to 
tell  him  that  the  information  is  for  me.  That  might 
be  an  excuse  for  not  communicating  it. 

Since  I  wrote  to  you,  Charles  has  taken  to  work  again 
a  little.  Press  him  in  the  same  direction  as  I  do :  a 
solid,  serious  book,  with  the  stamp  of  exile  on  it,  and 
making  it  impossible  for  any  one  to  say  that  he  has 
learned  nothing  from  his  imprisonment. 

He  is  in  great  request  here.  He  is  very  nice,  and 
that  accounts  for  it.  I  advise  him  to  be  dignified 
and  serious,  even  with  women.  No  levity,  no  debts, 
and  work  before  play.  He  agrees  to  everything,  and  I 
will  try  to  make  him  practice  it.  But  I  sadly  need  you 
to  help  me.  Write  to  him  always  from  this  point  of 
view,  without  ever  scolding  him. 

Yesterday  I  saw  Girardin,  and  we  had  a  good  long 
talk.  He  is  publishing  a  socialist  book  here  to-morrow, 
and  starts  for  Paris  the  same  day.  I  do  not  think  that 
all  you  have  heard  of  him  is  true.  I  found  him  very 


96  •      THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

satisfactory  yesterday ;  I  said  to  him  :  "  Go  to  Paris 
as  little  as  possible,  remain  there  as  little  as  possible, 
be  as  much  of  an  exile  as  possible." 

He  thanked  me  and  made  rather  an  interesting  re- 
mark. He  said  to  me  :  "  You  have  been  the  dart. 
You  flew  an  immense  distance  in  an  incredibly  short 
space  of  time,  and  you  buried  yourself  so  deep  in  de- 
mocracy that  no  power  on  earth  will  be  able  to  pull 
you  out  of  it." 

If  you  see  Mme.  de  Girardin,  congratulate  her  from 
me  on  her  courage  and  her  moral  grandeur. 

Dearest,  do  not  forget  that  I  must  have  a  dozen  or 
so  good  pages  next  time.  All  your  letters  are  full  of 
beauty  and  strength.  If  I  needed  energy,  they  would 
give  it  me.  Let  us  be  of  good  hope.  All  is  well  when 
the  head  is  well,  and  we  have  never  had  a  clearer  or 
better  idea  of  our  position  than  now. 

Kiss  my  Victor,  kiss  my  A  dele,  and  tell  them  to  kiss 
you.  I  shall  seem  to  be  among  you.  My  love  to  Paul 
Meurice  and  Auguste  Vacquerie.  My  kind  regards 
to  Mme.  Paul. 

XXVII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Monday,  22d  March,  [1852]. 

Good-morning,  dear  mamma.  This  is  only  a  hasty 
line  to  tell  you  that  we  are  well  and  to  send  you 
Dumas'  article,  which  is  so  nice  for  you.  Write  and 
thank  him.  He  will  be  much  touched  by  it. 

M.  Carpier,  the  manager  of  the  Varietes,  is  here 
again,  "  to  see  me,"  he  still  says.  I  repeated  the  cate- 
gorical statement  which  I  had  already  made  him,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  me  to  write  anything  for  the 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  97 

theatre,  and  especially  a  comedy,  before  I  had  per- 
formed a  political  act  and  published  my  book.  He 
said  :  "  But  after  your  book  has  come  out  they  will 
prohibit  your  piece."  "  Very  possibly/'  I  rejoined, 
"  but  it  is  my  duty."  He  told  me,  by  the  way,  that 
the  Elysee  was  much  alarmed  about  my  book,  and  that 
Romieu  had  spoken  to  him  of  it  with  anxiety.  Good  ! 
He  wants  Charles  to  write  a  play  for  him.  Provided 
Charles  writes  it  in  verse,  so  as  to  dispel  all  idea  of  a 
light  piece,  and  provided  also  he  has  published  or 
finished  his  Conciergerie  beforehand,  I  quite  approve, 
and  I  urge  him  to  do  it. 

Hetzel  says  that  a  line  from  me  to  Desnoyers  would 
open  the  columns  of  the  Siecle  to  Charles.  I  will  send 
it  you.  Charles  might  send  the  Siecle  non-political 
letters  on  Brussels.  Let  me  know  your  views. 

I  am  up  to  the  neck  in  my  cesspool  of  the  Second 
of  December.  As  soon  as  I  have  emptied  it,  I  shall 
cleanse  the  wings  of  my  mind  and  publish  some  poetry. 

XXVIII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

Friday,  26th  March,  [1852]. 

Charles  will  explain,  dearest,  why  our  letters  are  so 
hurried.  However,  if  my  letters  are  short,  they  are 
frequent,  and  besides,  you  know  how  I  work.  Really, 
you  owe  me  a  page  for  every  line  of  mine. 

I  should  like  to  be  able  to  write  to  you  at  length,  for 
I  have  a  piece  of  news  to  tell  you.  A  few  days  ago, 
I  received  a  visit  from  an  Imperialist,  an  old  friend 
of  mine,  and  a  friend  of  Louis  Bonaparte.  He  was  on 
his  way  through  Brussels,  he  said,  and  did  not  like  to 


VOL.  n. 


98  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

leave  without  shaking  me  by  the  hand.  He  said  that 
Louis  Bonaparte  was  grieved  at  the  fatality  which 
separates  us. 

"  It  is  not  fatality/'  I  said,  "  it  is  crime.  And  his 
crime  is  a  gulf."  He  resumed :  "  He  is  well  aware 
of  the  obligations  under  which  the  family  is  to  you. 
He  hesitated  for  five  days  before  putting  your  name 
on  the  proscription  list."  "  Ah !  "  I  said  with  a 
laugh,  "  he  would  have  preferred  putting  me  on  the 
roll  of  the  Senate,  eh  ?  Well,  tell  him  this,  that  the 
roll  of  the  Senate  is  the  proscription  list.  To  be  an 
outcast  from  France  is  only  a  misfortune.  To  be  an 
outcast  from  honor  is  real  misery." 

The  worthy  man  will  be  a  Senator  one  of  these  days. 
He  took  his  departure. 

XXIX. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Sik  April,  [1852]. 

More  impromptu  notes,  dearest.  Our  dear  good 
Deschanel,  who  will  bring  you  this,  is  starting  for  Paris 
in  an  hour.  Eeceive  him  as  one  of  our  best  friends,  as 
he  is.  I  saw  by  a  few  lines  from  Paul  in  the  Inde- 
pendance  (thank  Paul  from  me)  that  you  had  taken 
steps,  and  to  some  purpose,  about  the  silly  rumors 
spread  by  the  Elysee  on  the  subject  of  my  solicited 
return.  I  had  replied  at  once  here  by  the  follow- 
ing :— 

Several  papers  announce  that  M.  Victor  Hugo  has  been  author- 
ized to  return  to  France.  It  is  difficult  to  account  for  such  a  re- 
port. M.  Hugo  formerly  procured  for  M.  Bonaparte  permission  to 
return  to  France.  He  has  no  need  to  solicit  it  from  him  to-day. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  99 

Now  you  know  all  about  my  dialogue  with  the 
Ely  see.  I  hope  that  this  will  silence  him. 

Dearest  mamma,  I  spent  such  a  nice  evening  yester- 
day. Alexandre  Dumas  has  arrived,  we  dined  together, 
and  spoke  about  you.  He  told  me  again  how  every 
one  loves  and  respects  you,  and  I  told  him  that  every 
one  is  quite  right. 

You  will  have  seen  Hetzel.  He  will  have  spoken  to 
you  about  my  book,  and  pointed  out  to  you  the  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  publishing  it.  These  obstacles 
will  disappear.  M.  Trouve-Chauvel,  the  ex-Minister  of 
Finance,  came  to  see  me  just  now.  I  think  he  will 
go  to  London  and  see  to  the  publication  of  my  book. 
There  were  three  ex-Ministers  of  1848  in  my  room, 
Charras,  Freslon,  and  Trouve-Chauvel.  I  read  them  a 
few  pages  of  my  manuscript.  The  effect  was  good. 
Trouve-Chauvel  said  :  "  The  book  will  be  an  event  and 
a  monument." 

Have  you  seen  this  story  ? 

M.  Villemain  having  been  obliged  to  go  to  the  Elyse'e  on  some 
matter  relating  to  the  French  Academy,  M.  Bonaparte  said  to  him 
in  rather  a  sour  tone  :  "  Monsieur  Villemain,  the  French  Academy 
won't  make  friends  with  me  ;  it  is  not  like  the  Academy  of  Sciences, 
which  has  given  me  three  Senators."  "  The  French  Academy  is 
more  fortunate,"  replied  M.  Villemain,  "it  has  given  you  three 


This  exhausts  my  budget  of  news  for  to-day.  But 
my  heart  is  full.  I  could  go  on  writing  to  you  on  that 
subject  indefinitely.  Charles  has  gone  out,  but  I  send 
you  his  fond  love  as  well  as  mine,  and  also  to  Dede  and 
Toto.  I  am  very  weary  of  Toto's  imprisonment.  If 
he  is  as  weary  of  my  exile,  it  will  be  a  joyful  day  when 


100  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

we  meet  again.     I  have  heard  of  Paul  Meurice's  great 
success.     Congratulate  him  and  embrace  him  for  me. 
My  warmest  regards  to  Auguste. 


\ 


To  MTVTK.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  Uth  April,  [1852]. 

Dearest  mamma,  I  send  you  a  line  for  Paul  Meu- 
rice.  His  success  l  has  been  a  great  pleasure  to  us  here. 
We  drank  his  health  ;  tell  him  that. 

I  have  twice  had  a  visit  which  I  cannot  describe  at 
length,  but  which  I  will  tell  you  about  on  the  happy 
day  when  we  meet  again.  It  was  from  the  physician 
of  the  Orleans  family,  M.  Gueneau  de  Mussy.  Al- 
though he  denied  it,  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  had  a 
mission.  He  is  a  superior  man,  however,  and  was  very 
nice  in  every  way.  He  told  me  that  the  Orleans  family 
had  never  forgotten  that  I  was  the  last  person  who  pro- 
claimed the  Regency  on  the  24th  of  February  in  the 
Place  de  la  Bastille,  when  all  their  friends  were  con- 
cealing themselves  and  disappearing.  He  told  me  that 
the  Duchess  of  Orleans  said  of  me  in  a  tone  of  grief  : 
"What  !  is  it  possible  that  he  is  not  our  friend!" 

I  spoke  to  him  warmly  of  the  Orleans  princes,  and 
in  particular  with  great  respect  and  profound  sympathy 
of  the  Duchess  of  Orleans.  But  I  ended  by  saying  : 
"  However,  I  belong  for  good  and  all  to  the  Republic." 
I  think  he  must  have  understood. 

The  weather  has  been  very  fine  here  for  some  days, 
but  I  cannot  take  advantage  of  it,  working  almost  all 
day.  At  this  moment  I  have  splendid  sunshine  on  this 

1  The  drama  Benvenuto  Cellini. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  101 

letter,  and  my  window  is  wide  open.  The  only  thing 
which  tires  me  is  that  I  am  frequently  obliged  to  rewrite 
parts  of  my  book,  owing  to  the  receipt  of  fresh  infor- 
mation. Oh !  how  well  I  understand  the  remark  of 
the  abbe  Vertot :  Mon  siege  estfait  !l 

My  affection  of  the  larynx  has  almost  disappeared ; 
a  dull,  settled  pain  in  the  heart  has  come  in  its  place. 
They  tell  me  that  I  ought  to  take  exercise  and  work 
less,  and  this  is  the  very  thing  I  cannot  do.  I  must 
hope  for  the  best ! 

We  think  here  that  all  is  going  on  satisfactorily  in 
Paris.  I  rather  distrust  our  judgment  as  exiles,  and 
I  try  not  to  flatter  myself.  After  all,  let  Providence 
do  as  it  thinks  fit.  I  have  ten  years  of  exile  at  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Republic. 

Dearest,  nothing  can  be  nobler,  more  dignified,  or 
better  than  your  letters.  Their  only  fault  is  that  they 
are  sometimes  short.  So  write  to  me  at  length  and 
often. 

xxxi.         ,/' 

To  THE  SAME.  *> ,  >  A  • , ,  5-V  V  5  ^ ;  '*:  " 

BRUSSELS,  19th  April,  [1852]. 

Dearest,  I  answer  your  letter  at  once.  I  am  very 
pleased  with  my  Toto.  Impress  this  on  him  and  kiss 
him  for  me  on  both  cheeks.  Everybody  congratulates 

1  An  allusion  to  an  anecdote  well  known  in  France.  The  abbe*  Vertot 
was  a  writer  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the  historian  of  the  Order  of  Malta. 
He  had  asked  a  friend  for  some  documents  relating  to  a  very  important 
siege  sustained  by  Malta.  The  documents  were  a  long  time  in  coming, 
but  at  last  the  friend  brought  them  ;  they  were  authentic  and  of  great 
importance.  "  Too  late,"  cried  the  abbe*  Vertot.  "Mon  siege  estfait !  "  (I 
have  finished  the  history  of  the  siege  1)  The  remark  has  become  prover- 
bial in  France. 


102  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

me  warmly  about  him.  People  stop  me  in  the  street  to 
say  :  You  have  a  son  who  is  worthy  of  you.  Only  he 
must  understand  that  dignite  oblige.  He  must  go  on 
as  he  has  begun,  and  he  and  Charles  must  take  life 
seriously.  Everything  that  you  write  to  me  on  this 
point  is  profoundly  just  and  true.  Do  you  hear,  Vic- 
tor ?  Trust  your  mother  and  follow  her  advice. 

So  I  am  going  to  see  you  all  again,  and  we  shall 
resume  our  happy  family  life.  This  fills  us  with  joy 
here.  But  we  must  make  our  plans  rapidly  and  at 
once. 

If  I  sell  my  book  in  England,  as  seems  more  and 
more  probable,  I  shall  leave  Belgium  in  a  fortnight  or 
three  weeks.  It  would  perhaps  be  unadvisable  for  you 
to  come  and  settle  here,  take  an  apartment,  etc.,  for 
such  a  short  time.  In  that  case  this  is  my  idea  :  as 
soon  as  my  book  is  sold,  I  would  go  to  London  and 
from  there  straight  to  Jersey.  Jersey  is  a  very  pretty 
'island  belonging  Jo  England,  seventeen  leagues  from 
tie 'coast '-bf'Frake'e.  Living  is  comfortable  and  cheap 
'$&?&;  :r  AlJ^the  6xilep  say  that  it  is  very  nice.  I  would 
try  to  find,  arid  profcably  should  find,  an  apartment  in 
Jersey,  perhaps  a  small  house,  with  a  sea-view  and 
southern  aspect,  and  —  why  not?  —  a  garden.  We 
would  settle  ourselves  in  Jersey  as  comfortably  as  pos- 
sible, and  the  Bonaparte  might  last  as  long  as  he 
liked,  it  would  be  all  the  same  to  us.  We  could  go 
to  London  in  the  winter  and  spend  the  summer  in 
Jersey.  French  is  spoken  in  Jersey,  which  is  impor- 
tant, as  none  of  us  know  English. 

I  may  add  that  our  friends  would  join  us.  We 
should  have  a  spare  room  for  Auguste,  a  floor  for  M. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  103 

and  Mme.  Paul  Meurice,  and  from  there  we  could 
work  together  at  the  Moniteur  universel  des  peuples, 
of  which  I  am  now  laying  the  foundations  with  M. 
Trouve-Chauvel.  He  starts  for  London  to-morrow, 
with  notes  dictated  by  me.  He  is  enthusiastic  ahout 
my  idea  of  a  triple  publication  in  London,  Brussels, 
and  New  York,  and  of  a  Journal  des  peuples  edited 
by  Kossuth,  Mazzini,  etc.,  and  myself.  I  think  we 
shall  do  great  things.  But  all  this  obliges  us  to  leave 
Belgium.  I  am  sorry,  for  it  is  a  nice  country  and 
would  have  been  very  pleasant  in  the  summer.  Just 
now  we  are  troubled  with  cold. 

Let  me  know  what  you  think  of  all  this,  dearest 
mamma.  If  you  prefer  to  come  at  once,  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  say  so.  I  shall  make  no  objection,  never  fear  ! 
If  you  think  it  advisable  to  adopt  my  plan,  discuss  it 
with  Dede  and  Toto,  and  write  to  me  about  it. 

In  any  event,  I  will  do  what  you  wish,  what  you  all 
wish,  my  beloved  ones. 

My  pain  in  the  heart  is  better.  Fond  love  to  you 
and  the  children.  Consult  Auguste  about  my  plan. 
My  warmest  regards  to  him  and  to  Meurice. 

XXXII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  30th  April,  [1852]. 

Dearest,  the  day  before  yesterday,  as  Lamoriciere  was 
leaving  my  room,  Bixio  arrived  and  gave  me  your 
letter. 

You  scold  me  for  the  shortness  of  my  letters,  and  I 
thank  you  for  scolding  me ;  but  I  do  not  deserve  it. 
I  write  incessantly ;  the  farther  I  get,  the  greater  the 


104  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

mass  of  material.  It  is  now  clear  that  there  will  be 
two  volumes.  In  the  morning  I  write  the  book ;  after 
twelve  o'clock  I  get  up  the  case,  take  down  evidence, 
listen  to  witnesses,  etc.  In  the  evening  I  work  at  the 
book  again.  I  have  not  even  time  for  an  hour's  walk 
in  the  day ;  barely  half  an  hour,  after  dinner,  —  and 
besides,  it  is  very  cold  in  the  evening.  You  see  that 
when  I  write,  two  pages  from  me  is  more  meritorious 
than  ten  from  any  one  else.  However,  I  delight  in 
talking  to  you. 

Charles  has  set  to  work,  and,  I  hope,  in  earnest.  He 
will  write  and  we  shall  send  you  before  long  the  first 
letter  to  the  Siecle.  It  is  rather  a  difficult  thing  to  do. 
To  avoid  politics  at  a  time  like  this  and  to  manage  to 
be  interesting  is  no  easy  matter.  But  I  am  sure  that 
Charles  will  get  through  it  admirably. 

Dearest,  if  the  non-settlement  of  my  affairs  in  London 
should  entail  a  longer  stay  here,  we  would  take  steps  at 
once,  and  you  should  join  us  immediately.  We  are  as 
anxious  to  have  you  as  you  are  to  have  us.  Our  life 
here  is  all  broken  up,  and  we  long  to  have  a  home 
again,  —  the  only  real  happiness  for  exiles. 

I  have  not  much  space  left,  and  will  fill  it  with  affec- 
tionate messages.  I  embrace  you  and  Dede  and  Vic- 
tor. Tell  Victor  that  Charles  is  working.  Now,  then, 
a  race  between  Victor  and  Charles !  I  embrace  you 
once  more.  Our  warmest  regards  to  Vacquerie,  and 
to  Meurice,  whose  Benvenuto  delights  me. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  105 

XXXIII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  12th  May,  9  P.  M.,  [1852]. 

Dearest,  your  letter  has  reached  me.  Although  I  do 
not  reproach  myself,  for  my  whole  time  is  spent  in 
unremitting  labor,  I  am  sorry  to  think  that  you  have 
been  a  fortnight  without  letters,  and  that  you  are  in 
low  spirits.  I  want  you  to  get  two  letters,  one  after 
another.  Charles,  who  has  worked  hard  all  the  week, 
has  gone  to  the  theatre  this  evening  to  see  Mme.  Guyon 
act,  and  I  am  staying  at  home  to  write  to  you. 

I  have  not  yet  seen  the  man  from  London.  I  was 
expecting  him  yesterday,  and  I  still  expect  him.  I  am 
afraid,  sad  to  say,  that  even  in  England  there  is  no 
such  thing  as  a  free  press,  and  that  they  shrink  from 
publishing  my  book.  This  is  between  ourselves,  for 
you  must  not  mention  this  hitch  to  any  one.  The  peo- 
ple at  the  Elysee  would  be  delighted  to  hear  of  it,  and 
would  try  to  throw  more  difficulties  in  the  way.  In 
that  case  my  mind  is  made  up :  I  shall  publish  the  book 
at  my  own  expense,  no  matter  how. 

By  this  time  you  will  have  received  Charles's  article. 
It  is  very  remarkable,  and  will,  I  think,  be  much  no- 
ticed. As  soon  as  the  first  article  is  inserted,  I  am 
sure  that  Charles  will  work,  —  and  that  is  a  great 
point. 

My  dear  wife,  my  dear  little  daughter,  my  Victor, 
how  I  miss  you !  I  am  often  very  sad  here.  I  long 
for  the  time  when  we  shall  all  meet.  I  should  like  to 
see  a  smile  on  the  sweet  face  of  my  Adele-Dede.  Do 
you  know,  my  Dede,  that  it  will  soon  be  six  months  — 


106  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

six  months  —  since  I  saw  you !  And  you,  my  Victor, 
make  your  mother  happy  till  I  come. 

I  take  refuge  from  all  my  sad  thoughts  in  work,  — 
work  in  the  morning,  work  in  the  day,  work  at  night. 
But  all  this  toil  is  another  source  of  sadness,  an  austere 
task  of  punishment  and  of  justice. 

When  we  are  together,  I  shall  write  some  verses,  I 
shall  publish  a  big  volume  of  poetry.  I  shall  rejoice 
in  it,  and  I  think  we  shall  have  a  charming  time. 
Would  that  it  had  arrived  already ! 

Mme.  Guyon  has  brought  me  a  very  noble  letter 
from  Janin.  Thank  him  if  you  meet  him.  Tell  our 
dear  Theophile,  too,  how  touched  I  am  at  reading  my 
name  in  his  fine  articles. 

xxxiv. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  30th  May,  [1852]. 

I  answer  you  without  delay,  dearest,  and  you  will 
get  this  letter  to-morrow  morning.  I  send  it  direct, 
so  as  not  to  lose  time.  All  the  plans  you  have  made 
are  excellent.  Go  on ;  it  is  impossible  to  do  better. 
Dearest,  I  am  distressed  to  think  that  you  are  alone 
over  there,  and  that  you  have  to  provide  for  so  many 
things  all  at  once.  But  I  too,  you  know,  am  hard  at 
work  ;  I  do  not  waste  a  minute. 

Charles  had  a  letter  from  Victor  yesterday.  The 
poor  child  has  some  trouble  ;  you  will  know  what  it  is. 
He  asks  me  to  take  him  in  here.  We  wrote  to  him  to 
come  directly.  I  imagine  he  will  arrive  on  Tuesday 
morning.  We  will  try  to  occupy  him  and  console  him. 
But  you  will  be  still  more  lonely.  That  makes  me  all 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  107 

the  more  anxious  to  hasten  the  time  when  we  shall  all 
be  together,  —  a  happy  time,  you  will  see  ! 

My  beloved,  this  letter  is  nothing  but  business  from 
beginning  to  end.  I  have  hardly  been  able  to  tell  you 
a  word  of  what  I  feel.  I  could  not  do  without  you, 
do  you  understand?  You  have  been  great  and  ad- 
mirable throughout  all  these  trials.  Do  not  doubt  for 
a  moment,  either  of  the  present  or  of  the  future.  You 
will  see  what  a  happy  little  group  we  shall  be  in  Jersey. 
Charles  and  I  send  our  fondest  love  to  you.  If  there 
is  any  delay  about  Jersey,  you  must  come  and  join  us 
at  Brussels.  Tell  Victor  that  his  room  (your  room)  is 
ready. 

Dearest  wife  and  daughter,  I  love  you.  You  are  my 
delight  and  my  joy. 

My  warmest  regards  to  Paul  Meurice.  Has  Au- 
guste  come  back? 

XXXV. 

To  THE  SAME. 

BRUSSELS,  1st  July,  [1852]. 

A  line  in  haste,  dearest.  Having  no  messenger,  I 
send  it  by  post.  This  very  day  a  volume  of  mine  has 
gone  to  press  in  London.  No  one  has  dared  to  buy 
the  manuscript ;  it  is  being  printed,  that  is  all  they 
have  ventured  to  do  in  England. 

It  will  appear  on  the  25th  of  July,  and  will  be  called 
Napoleon  le  Petit.  It  is  about  the  size  of  Le  Dernier 
Jour  d9un  Condamne. 

I  wrote  this  book  after  you  left  us.1     I  shall  publish 

1  Mme.  Victor  Hugo  had  spent  a  few  days  in  Brussels  at  the  beginning 
of  June. 


108  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

the  history  of  the  Second  of  December  later.  Being 
obliged  to  postpone  it,  I  did  not  want  Bonaparte  to 
profit  by  the  delay.  I  hope  that  you  will  all  like  No- 
poleon  le  Petit.  It  is  one  of  my  best  things.  I  wrote 
it  in  a  month,  working  almost  night  and  day. 

The  great  business  in  London  is  going  on  satisfac- 
torily. The  capitalist  has  been  found,  but  he  wants 
to  confine  himself  to  literature.  They  are  afraid  of 
democracy  in  England. 

Charles  is  writing  his  novel,  and  working  hard.  I 
am  very  pleased  at  this. 

Do  not  mention  Napoleon  le  Petit  to  any  one,  ex- 
cept Auguste  and  Paul  Meurice  ;  and  beg  them  to  say 
nothing  about  it.  It  must  fall  like  a  bombshell. 

I  have  a  great  many  things  to  say  to  you,  but  the 
post  is  going.  Farewell  for  the  present.  I  love  you  all. 

XXXVI. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

BRUSSELS,  13^  July,  [1852]. 

Yesterday  there  was  an  incident.  A  deputation  of 
exiles  begged  me  not  to  leave  Brussels.  I  replied : 
"It  does  not  rest  with  me;  I  shall  be  expelled."  "Wait 
till  you  are  expelled/'  was  the  reply.  I  said  to  them  : 
"  But  if  we  make  a  scandal  of  it,  which  may  be  a  useful 
political  step,  there  will  be  joint  responsibility ;  you 
will,  perhaps,  all  be  expelled."  "  Well,  we  will  follow 
you,  and  rally  round  you  again  in  Jersey.  If  you 
leave,  the  exiles  in  Belgium  lose  their  leader.  The 
party,  which  is  now  in  Brussels,  will  be  shifted  to  Lon- 
don. You  are  the  centre.  In  Jersey  you  will  be  iso- 
lated. Stick  to  us  until  you  are  expelled."  I  told  them 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  109 

that  I  was  quite  at  their  service ;  and  I  begged  them 
to  reflect,  for  a  general  expulsion  would  be  against  the 
interests  of  many,  especially  the  poorer  ones.  They  are 
going  to  consult  together  again,  and  will  come  back. 

My  departure  from  here  is  none  the  less  certain,  — 
for  the  Lehon  ministry  will  certainly  expel  me,  —  but, 
being  no  longer  voluntary,  it  will  be  delayed  for  a 
few  days. 

You  will  have  heard  that  in  the  papers  here  and  in 
Germany  I  have  been  made  senator,  prince,  and  grand 
eagle  of  the  Legion  of  Honor,  with  an  allowance  of 
two  millions,  in  return  for  which  Napoleon  le  Petit  is 
to  remain  unpublished.  I  shrugged  my  shoulders. 
Then  they  talked  about  an  amnesty. 

Charles  is  finishing  his  novel.  He  read  me  the  first 
chapters,  which  are  admirably  done.  It  is  very  re- 
markable, as  regards  both  style  and  matter.  I  have  no 
doubt  whatever  of  its  success,  and  I  think  you  will 
be  pleased. 

XXXVII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

25th  July,  Sunday  morning,  [1852]. 

The  printer  has  just  left  me,  dearest.  The  book 
will  appear  on  Wednesday  or  Thursday  at  the  latest. 
You  must  start,  therefore,  as  soon  as  you  receive  this. 
Go  straight  to  Jersey,  to  Saint-Helier,  which  is  the 
principal  town.  There  must  be  good  hotels  there. 
You  will  take  up  your  abode  there,  and  await  us. 
Charles  has  not  finished  his  book,  but  is  determined  to 
start  with  me.  I  expect  we  shall  be  in  Jersey  by  Friday 
or  Saturday  at  the  latest,  as  we  intend  to  rush  through 
London. 


110  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Dearest,  before  the  week  is  over,  I  hope  we  shall  see 
each  other  and  be  together  again.  It  will  be  a  real 
happiness,  the  first  after  these  seven  months  of  exile. 
My  dear  little  Dede,  how  glad  I  shall  be  to  embrace 
you. 

A  number  of  incidents  have  happened  and  are  still 
happening,  and  a  violent  Bonapartist  storm  will  burst 
over  the  book.  This  is  a  matter  of  course.  I  will  tell 
you  the  details  when  we  meet. 

You  must  have  spent  a  happy  week  at  Villequier. 
A  portion  of  my  heart  lies  buried  there.  Dearest,  you 
went  to  see  Didine's  and  Charles's  grave ;  you  prayed 
for  yourself  and  for  me,  did  you  not  ? 

As  one  must  be  prepared  for  everything,  and  inci- 
dents may  delay  us,  do  not  be  uneasy  if  we  should 
not  arrive  in  Jersey  by  the  end  of  the  week.  I  firmly 
believe,  however,  that  we  shall. 

My  fellow-exiles  did  not  want  me  to  go.  Three 
deputations  came  to  see  me  about  it.  I  explained  to 
them  that  my  forced  (inevitable)  expulsion  would  mean 
honor  for  me  and  loss  of  prestige  for  them.  They 
withdrew  their  objections,  but  I  am  glad  to  see  that 
they  are  sorry  to  lose  me,  and  that  all  of  them,  or 
nearly  all,  love  me,  and  would  be  ready  to  rally  round 
me.  I  know  what  I  want,  and  I  want  only  what  is 
right. 

I  hope  that  I  shall  find  Auguste  in  Jersey,  and  am 
delighted  to  hear  what  you  tell  me  of  the  intended  visit 
of  Paul  Meurice  and  his  charming  wife.  We  shall  per- 
haps have  some  quiet  days  there,  in  spite  of  the  tumult 
that  is  raised  around  my  name. 

Ponsard  has  been  to  see  me.     Janin  has  been,  and 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  Ill 

he  shed  tears  when  he  embraced  me.  I  believe  I  shall 
leave  a  good  impression  here,  and  that  my  memory  will 
be  respected. 

I  have  only  space  left  to  send  my  fondest  love  to  you 
and  my  Dede. 

XXXVIII. 

To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LONDON,  2d  August,  [1852]. 

Here  we  are  in  London,  dearest.  I  am  writing  in 
great  haste.  Charles  and  I  left  Brussels  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday ;  my  fellow-exiles  had  given  me  a  fare- 
well dinner  the  evening  before.  The  following  day 
several  of  them,  among  others  Madier-Montjau  and 
Deschanel,  escorted  me  to  Antwerp ;  there  our  fellow- 
refugees  in  Antwerp  were  awaiting  me ;  they  gave  me 
a  reception,  and  a  banquet  was  arranged  at  which  I 
took  the  chair.  Yesterday  the  Belgian  democrats  of 
Antwerp  entertained  me  at  a  grand  luncheon  to  which 
they  invited  all  the  exiles. 

Just  as  we  were  sitting  down,  a  number  of  represen- 
tatives and  refugees  from  all  parts  of  Belgium  arrived 
to  bid  me  farewell,  among  them  Charras,  Parfait,  Ver- 
signy,  Brives,  Valentin,  Etienne  Arago,  etc.,  —  Agricol 
Perdiguier,  Gaston  Dussoubs,  Buvignier,  Labrousse, 
Besse,  etc.,  had  already  come  to  Antwerp  for  the  same 
purpose,  and  a  lot  of  exiled  writers  and  journalists,  — 
Leroy,  Courmeaux,  Arsene  Meunier. 

Bocage  came  expressly  from  Paris.  The  whole  jour- 
ney was  one  long  ovation. 

When  I  left,  Madier-Montjau  addressed  me  in  a 
really  fine  speech,  which  came  from  the  heart.  I  spoke 
pretty  well  in  reply.  Then  came  speeches  from  the 


112  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

writers,  from  the  representatives,  from  the  Belgians, 
among  them  Cappellemans,  whom  you  saw  at  Paul's  and 
who  made  some  touching  remarks.  When  I  embarked 
for  London  on  the  Ravensbourne  at  three  o'clock,  the 
quay  was  covered  with  an  enormous  crowd,  the  women 
were  waving  their  handkerchiefs,  the  men  were  shout- 
ing, Vive  Victor  Hugo.  I  had  tears  in  my  eyes,  and 
so  had  Charles.  I  replied,  Vive  la  Repiiblique,  which 
produced  a  still  louder  burst  of  cheering. 

At  that  moment  came  a  pelting  shower  of  rain, 
which,  however,  did  not  disperse  them.  All  remained 
on  the  quay  as  long  as  the  steamer  was  in  sight.  Alex- 
andre  Dumas'  white  waistcoat  could  be  distinguished 
in  the  middle  of  them,  Alexandre  Dumas  was  kind 
and  charming  up  to  the  last  minute.  He  insisted  on 
being  the  last  to  embrace  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
deeply  all  this  manifestation  touched  me.  I  saw  with 
joy  that  I  had  sowed  some  good  seed. 

Madier-Montjau  and  Charras  begged  me,  on  behalf 
of  all  our  fellow-exiles  in  Belgium,  to  see  Mazzini, 
Ledru-Rollin,  and  Kossuth  here,  to  settle  the  interests  of 
European  democracy  with  them.  They  said  :  "  Speak 
as  our  leader."  This  will  keep  me  in  London  till 
Wednesday.  So  expect  us  in  Jersey  on  Thursday  or 
Friday. 

I  hope  that  you  are  fairly  comfortable  there,  and  that 
before  long  you  will  be  quite  so.  Charles  is  develop- 
ing amid  all  this ;  he  is  going  ahead  in  a  thoroughly 
manly  fashion. 

If  Auguste  is  with  you  in  Jersey,  it  will  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  embrace  him.  I  wrote  to  Victor  to 
be  there  by  the  5th,  and  I  count  on  it.  We  shall  then 
be  the  old  happy  group. 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  113 

My  book  will  not  appear  till  Thursday.  There  have 
been  delays  enjoined  by  prudence  which  I  will  explain 
to  you.  I  am  going  to  give  the  first  five  hundred 
francs  which  it  will  bring  in  to  the  exiles'  fund. 

I   embrace  you,  my  dearest   wife.     I  embrace  my 
Dede,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  eight  months.     Alas, 
yes,  it  will  be  eight  months  to-morrow.     What  happi- 
ness !     To  meet  again  ! 
VOL.  n.          8 


III.    LETTERS  FROM  EXILE. 

1852-1870. 


I. 

To  M.  LUTHEBEAU,  at  Brussels. 

JERSEY,  I5th  August,  1852. 

HERE  we  are,  my  dear  friend^in  a  deHghtful  spot ; 
everything  is  lovely  and  charming.  You  pass  from  a 
wood  to  a  group  of  rocks,  from  a  garden  to  a  reef, 
from  a  meadow  to  the  sea.  The  inhabitants  are  well 
disposed  towards  refugees.  You  can  see  France  from 
the  coast. 

I  shall  write  soon  to  my  excellent  colleague  Yvan. 
He  ought  to  look  us  up  in  Jersey.  We  would  spend  a 
year  there  and  then  go  to  Madeira  or  Teneriffe  to- 
gether. After  which  M.  Bonaparte  would  fall  and  all 
of  us  would  return  to  France  singing  a  final  chorus. 
Tell  him  of  this  plan. 

To-morrow  I  move  with  my  family  into  a  pretty  little 
house  which  I  have  taken,  near  the  sea.  My  address 
now  will  be  :  St.  Luke's,  3  Marine  Terrace.  But  there 
is  no  need  to  put  an  address.  All  letters  directed 
simply  to  Jersey  reach  me. 


116  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

II. 

To  ANDRE  VAN  HASSELT. 

JERSEY,  15th  August,  1852. 

I  am  enveloped  in  poetry,  dear  poet,  amid  rocks, 
meadows,  roses,  clouds,  and  the  sea,  and  naturally  my 
thoughts  turn  to  you. 

What  fine  lines  you  would  write  if  you  were  here  ! 
They  spring  as  it  were  of  themselves  from  this  splendid 
scenery.  When  the  view  is  not  grand,  it  is  lovely. 

To-morrow  I  take  up  my  abode  in  a  little  den  near 
the  sea,  which  the  newspapers  of  the  island  describe  as 
a  "  superb  house  on  the  Azette  shore."  It  is  a  cottage, 
but  the  ocean  lies  at  its  foot. 

We  talk  about  you  among  ourselves ;  my  wife  and 
my  daughter  read  your  fine  works,  which  I  brought 
them.  Charles  and  I  tell  them  of  our  expeditions  to 
Louvain,  to  Hal,  in  your  company.  We  miss  you ;  we 
long  to  have  you. 

About  ten  or  twelve  miles  from  here  there  is  a  huge 
rock,  an  island  called  Sark.  It  is  a  sort  of  fairy  palace 
full  of  marvels.  A  man  named  Ludder  or  Lupper  has 
just  bought  the  manorial  rights  of  it  for  £6000.  Here 
is  one  of  those  cases  in  which  poets  envy  millionaires. 
I  should  like  to  buy  such  an  island  and  give  it  to  Mme. 
van  Hasselt.  She  would  be  obliged  to  come  there. 
We  should  have  your  pleasant  talk,  dear  poet.  And  I 
should  still  be  the  richer  of  the  two. 


TO  ALPHONSE  ESQUIROS.  117 

in. 

To  ALPHONSE  ESQUIROS. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  5th  March,  1853. 

Are  you  still  in  Belgium  ?  Are  you  still  at  Nivelles  ? 
I  write  to  you  at  random.  My  thoughts  often  turn  to 
you.  You  must  feel  it.  Your  letter  of  the  end  of 
December  moved  me  deeply.  It  seemed  to  me  like  a 
greeting  from  our  youth,  with  a  tenderness  refined  by 
exile. 

You  are  one  of  the  men  whom  I  love  the  most  and 
the  best.  You  have  all  the  great  beliefs  in  the  future 
and  in  progress.  You  are  a  poet  as  well  as  an  orator, 
with  enthusiasm  for  truth  in  your  mind,  and  a  ray  of 
the  future  in  your  eyes.  Grow  greater  and  greater ; 
cultivate  more  and  more  your  sympathy,  your  tender- 
ness, and  your  firmness.  Let  us  one  and  all,  militant 
minds  and  consciences  weighed  down  with  this  age  of 
struggle  and  transformation,  accept  the  great  law  which 
presses  on  us  without  crushing  us ;  let  us  hold  our- 
selves ready  for  the  future  evolutions  of  events  and 
things ;  let  us  belong  to  the  people  now  and  prepare 
for  belonging  to  humanity  in  the  future. 

I  write  all  this  as  my  mind  runs  on,  at  random,  as  it 
comes  to  me,  somewhat  as  the  ocean  flings  its  waves, 
its  weeds,  and  its  breezes.  Come  and  look  at  our  Jer- 
sey sea,  if  you  go  to  Portugal  this  spring.  I  am  as- 
sured, and  I  can  well  believe  it,  that  Jersey  is  a  para- 
dise in  April.  It  is  melancholy  and  gloomy  in  winter, 
but  the  summer  makes  up  for  this.  Come  to  us,  dear 
poet,  with  April,  with  the  dawn,  with  the  spring,  with 
the  songs  of  the  birds. 


118  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

I  have  spent  my  winter  in  writing  some  sombre  lines. 
They  will  be  called  Chdtiments.  You  can  guess  the 
subject.  You  will  read  them  one  of  these  days. 
Napoleon  le  Petit  being  in  prose  was  only  half  of  the 
work.  The  wretch  was  roasted  on  one  side  only ;  I 
turn  him  over  on  the  gridiron. 

Oh,  my  dear  comrade  in  thought  and  in  action,  let 
us  not  lose  heart.  Let  us  persist,  let  us  struggle  on, 
let  us  redouble  our  efforts,  let  us  persevere  in  the  war 
against  unrighteousness,  hatred,  and  darkness. 

IV. 
To  ANDR^  VAN  HASSELT. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  llth  May,  1853. 

It  will  be  a  year  to-morrow,  dear  poet,  you  recollect 
and  I  do  not  forget,  since  we  went  to  Hal  together ; 
it  was  raining  a  little,  but  we  did  not  notice  the  cloudy 
sky  and  we  did  not  feel  the  cold  wind  as  we  listened  to 
your  talk.  We  went  to  see  the  marvels  of  ancient  art 
together,  we  bought  the  Catholic  knickknacks  and  the 
pictures  of  miracles  sold  at  the  church  door,  and  Charles 
and  I  shocked  you  a  little  by  laughing  at  the  miracles 
inside.  I  believe,  heaven  help  me,  that  I  managed,  like 
a  demagogue  that  I  am,  to  count  the  stone  balls  which 
the  black  virgin  received  so  opportunely  in  her  apron. 

Now  I  am  far  away ;  I  see  no  miracle  but  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  hideous  reign  of  crime  and  fear.  The 
beautiful  church  and  the  charming  poet  are  no  longer 
there,  but  I  think  of  you,  and  through  space,  over  sea, 
sky,  cloud,  wind,  and  tempest,  I  send  you  my  thoughts. 

I  also  send  you  a  picture  of  myself  and  one  of 
Charles,  done  by  my  other  son  Victor.  The  door  be- 


TO  NOEL  PARFAIT.  119 

hind  us  is  the  small  door  of  our  tiny  house.  In  these 
three  square  inches  you  have  the  exile  and  his  cottage. 

What  you  do  not  have,  what  could  not  be  contained 
in  such  a  small  space,  what  I  cannot  send  you,  for 
words  are  powerless  to  express  feelings,  is  my  deep  and 
tender  friendship  for  you.  I  divide  it  in  two  and  lay 
one  half  at  the  feet  of  your  charming  wife. 

You  have  read  fragments  of  the  speech.1  I  send 
you  the  whole  of  it.  Do  not  be  distressed,  but  rejoice 
that  the  victims  preach  magnanimity  to  the  persecutors. 
It  is  a  noble  sight,  and  worthy  of  your  mind. 

v. 

To  NOEL  PARFAIT. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  29th  October,  [1853]. 

What  has  become  of  you?  What  has  become  of 
Brussels  ?  What  has  become  of  the  Boulevard  Water- 
loo ?  As  for  Dumas,  we  hear  of  him.  Every  morning 
we  get  a  sparkling  page  which  tells  us  that  the  kind 
heart  and  the  great  mind  are  well.  Your  last  letter 
delighted  us,  dear  exile  ;  it  was  a  delicious  little  private 
diary,  resembling  your  smile.  Charles  said :  "  C'est 
Parfait."  And  we  all  repeated  the  pun  with  which 
Providence  has  connected  you. 

You  had,  about  two  months  ago,  a  delightful  evening 
fete.  The  Presse  related  it  to  us  from  the  Indepen- 
dance  Beige  (article  signed  with  a  capital  D,  and  written 
by  a  charming  fellow  called  Deschanel) ;  then  the  said 
fete  came  back  to  us  from  New  York  quite  fresh  through 
the  RepublicaMi)  from  California  through  the  Messager 
of  San  Francisco,  from  Bio  Janeiro  through  the  Cor- 

1  A  speech  over  the  grave  of  a  refugee. 


120  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

reio  National,  and  from  Quebec  through  the  Moniteur 
Canadien.  Tell  Dumas,  so  that  he  inay  see  that  his 
fetes  are  as  successful  as  his  books.  Tell  Deschanel, 
too,  who  will  not  be  sorry  to  have  been  reprinted  by 
the  four  points  of  the  compass. 

The  equinox  is  blowing  with  force  here ;  but  it  makes 
no  difference,  we  live  in  profound  calm.  The  skies 
weep ;  the  sea  howls  among  the  rocks ;  the  wind  roars 
like  a  wild  beast ;  the  trees  writhe  on  the  hills ;  Nature 
rages  around  me.  I  look  her  full  in  the  face,  and  say 
to  her :  What  right  have  you  to  complain,  Nature  ;  you 
who  are  in  your  abode,  while  I  who  have  been  driven 
from  my  country  and  my  home,  I  smile !  There  is  my 
dialogue  with  the  north  wind  and  the  rain.  Make  use 
of  it  in  your  turn  as  opportunity  offers. 

The  book  *  I  have  told  you  about  is  at  last  going  to 
appear.  When  you  see  all  my  dear  friends,  —  Charras, 
Deschanel,  Place,  Laussedat,  Labrousse,  Madier,  our 
brave  and  eloquent  Madier,  —  greet  them  for  me. 

VI. 

pT]         To  MLLE.  LOUISE  BERTIN. 

[1853.] 

Remain  the  great  mind  that  I  have  known. 

Remain  the  same  great  heart  and  great  soul. 

The  success  of  the  moment  is  nothing.  Justice  and 
truth  are  everything. 

You  are  capable  of  comprehending  the  grandeur  of 
the  struggle  of  right  against  crime  ;  of  the  idea  against 
brute  force ;  of  the  thinker  against  the  dictator  ;  of  the 
moral  atom  against  material  iniquity.  You  are  capable 

1  Zes  Chdtiments. 


TO  EMILE  DESCHANEL.  121 

of  comprehending  this ;  you  do  comprehend  it,  I  am 
certain.  Do  not  write  in  such  a  way  as  to  inspire 
doubts  of  it. 

Yes,  we  suffer. 

We  suffer  and  we  smile. 

If  these  men  did  not  suffer,  where  would  their  merit 
be?  If  they  did  not  smile,  where  would  be  their 
grandeur  ? 

Remain  yourself.  Cherish  the  proud  isolation  of 
your  mind.  That  certain  men  should  surround  ycfu  is 
intelligible ;  but  that  they  should  influence  you,  no, 
never  !  Do  not  permit  it.  You  are  too  high  for  that. 
It  is  the  triumph  of  small  minds  to  mount  on  the 
shoulders  of  superior  minds.  Do  not  allow  them  these 
familiarities.  .  .  . 

Do  not,  with  your  virile  intelligence,  sink  into  the 
monarchist  trifling.  Look  at  the  real  future.  Your 
eyes  are  strong  enough  to  gaze  steadfastly  at  that 
sun.  .  .  . 

VII. 

To  EMILE  DESCHANEL,  at  Brussels. 
MARINE  TERRACE,  Sunday,  llth  December,  [1853]. 

Will  you  still  object?  Am  I  right  in  calling  you 
my  poet  ?  Do  you  know  that  your  lines  are  superb  ? 
The  close  is  marked  by  an  energy  qui  vous  sacre  brun, 
ou  meme  noir.  "  Sacrebrun  "  will,  perhaps,  make  you 
say  "  sacrebleu."  But  what  do  I  care  ?  Swear,  if  you 
like.  Your  lines  delighted  us.  Charles  claps  his  hands, 
Toto  drums  with  his  feet,  Vacquerie  embraces  you. 

The  Jersey  papers  quote  from  every  part  of  the 
book,1  and  are  full  of  it ;  and,  oddly  enough,  the  Eng- 

1  Les  Chatiments. 


122  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

lish  papers  themselves  quote  it  in  French.  They  say 
that  the  lines  are  untranslatable,  which  made  an  English 
lady  here  ask  the  other  day  if  they  were  obscene.  I 
replied :  Not  a  doubt  of  it ;  the  Bonaparte  is  in  every 
line. 

How  I  should  like  to  be  among  you  again,  if  it 
were  only  for  an  hour.  Do  you  still  dine  at  the  Aigle  ? 
Do  you  remember  Charles's  tirades  against  the  white 
asparagus  ?  and  that  excellent  faro  ! l  and  our  pleasant 
talks !  and  our  hearty  laughter !  And  our  long  dis- 
course on  the  soul  and  on  God,  which  we  put  off  to 
another  day,  which  has  never  come !  And  your  course 
of  lectures,  as  the  climax  of  all !  I  can  see  you  now 
at  the  end  of  the  large  room,  which  was  not  large 
enough,  seated  in  your  chair  with  the  light  on  you,  — 
gentle,  pleasing,  modest,  applauded,  charming,  —  sur- 
rounded by  a  crowd  of  men  whose  hands  clap,  and  by 
pretty  women  whose  hearts  beat.  .  .  .  My  mind  goes 
back  to  those  days  as  it  does  to  my  native  land. 

Here,  in  winter,  everything  is  sombre,  dark,  violent, 
terrible,  tempestuous,  severe.  The  rain  pours  down 
my  window-pane  like  a  stream  of  silver ;  all  nature 
plunges  with  frenzy  into  the  tumult,  and  I  have  little 
to  do  but  to  storm  like  the  wind  and  roar  like  the  sea. 

When  you  see  our  convalescent  Hetzel,  who  makes 
his  pallor  an  excuse  for  his  laziness,  tell  him  to  write 
to  me.  Say  bravo  to  Dumas  from  me  for  two  delightful 
numbers  of  the  Mousquetaire,  which  have  reached  my 
den.  And  you,  think  of  me ;  write  me  a  nice  long 
letter,  marked  by  that  charming  feeling,  that  exquisite 
style,  that  profound  and  gentle  mind,  which  is  ap- 
plauded at  Brussels  and  loved  in  Jersey. 

1  The  beer  drunk  at  the  Aigle. 


TO  VILLEMAIK  123 

VIII. 

To   VlLLEMAIN. 

IQth  March,  1854. 

.  .  .  No,  my  friend,  I  have  no  personal  complaint  to 
make.  I  thank  God  for  all  that  He  has  been  pleased 
to  do  with  me,  for  the  ordeal  which  I  undergo,  for  the 
desolation  amid  which  I  meditate.  I  welcome  adver- 
sity, welcome  injustice,  welcome  hatred,  welcome  cal- 
umny, which  creeps  into  the  exile's  life  like  the  worm 
into  the  sepulchre.  If  all  these  things  which  the  world 
has  agreed  to  call  misfortune,  and  which  I  bear,  add  a 
single  grain  to  the  sum  total  of  human  progress,  I 
bless  destiny. 

Do  you  know  what  Jersey  is  ?  Take  a  map  of  the 
Archipelago  and  look  out  Lemnos.  There  you  have 
Jersey.  By  the  most  capricious  chance  imaginable, 
God  has  made  the  same  island  twice  over ;  He  has 
given  one  to  the  Greeks,  the  other  to  the  Celts.  Jer- 
sey, placed  on  the  top  of  Lemnos,  would  fit  it  almost 
exactly. 

It  is  from  there  that  I  write  to  you ;  not  from  the 
island  where  the  lightning  is  made,  but  from  the  island 
where  it  is  expected.  For  sooner  or  later  upon  such 
things  and  such  men  the  thunderbolt  must  surely 
fall.  .  .  . 

IX. 

To  DAVID  D' ANGERS. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  26$  April,  1854. 

DEAR  GREAT  DAVID,  —  I  have  received  your  kind 
and  noble  letter,  with  the  interesting  page  which  it 


124  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

contained.  I  am  glad  that  you  liked  the  book.1  Dear 
friend,  envy  me,  all  of  you,  envy  me  ;  my  exile  is  good, 
and  I  thank  destiny  for  it.  In  these  days,  I  do  not 
know  if  proscription  means  suffering,  but  I  know  that 
it  means  honor.  0  my  sculptor,  one  day  you  put  a 
wreath  on  my  head,  and  I  said  to  you  :  Why  ?  —  You 
foresaw  my  proscription. 

Talking  of  this,  I  am  sending  you  that  masterpiece, 
and  I  intrust  it  to  your  care.  I  have  no  home,  the 
bust  is  expelled  like  the  man.  Open  your  door  to  it. 
I  hope  that  one  of  these  days,  soon  perhaps,  I  shall 
come  and  fetch  it.  In  the  mean  while,  keep  it  for  me. 

And  keep  your  brave  and  generous  friendship  for 
me.  I  press  your  hand,  poet  in  marble. 

x. 

To  EMILE  DESCHANEL,  at  Brussels. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  Sunday,  28th  May,  [1854]. 

Now  you  are  happy,  dear  gentle  poet ;  and,  al- 
though the  rain  and  the  wind  are  descending  on  my 
head,  although  the  mist  has  spread  a  gray  covering 
over  the  sky  and  the  sea,  although  in  my  garden,  which 
is  invaded  by  my  neighbor's  poultry-yard,  I  see  only 
geese  and  not  a  single  bird,  although  these  horrible 
geese  are  at  this  very  moment  engaged  in  rooting  up 
and  eating  seven  shillings'  worth  of  French  beans  which 
I  sowed  last  week,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  unpleas- 
antness and  all  these  calamities  I  feel  your  happiness 
bringing  me  warmth  and  smiling  at  me  from  a  dis- 
tance, and  my  heart  is  full  of  joy. 

As  soon  as  you  have  received  and  read  this  letter, 

1  Les  Chdtiments. 


TO  EMILE  DESCHANEL.  125 

take  your  charming  wife  on  your  knee  and  say  to  her  : 
Somewhere  in  the  world,  in  a  remote  spot,  far  away 
from  here,  there  lives  a  sort  of  morose  old  creature,  a 
dreamer  of  dreams,  a  dealer  of  blows  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left,  an  owl  who  is  the  sworn  enemy  of  coun- 
terfeit eagles ;  this  gentleman  thanks  you,  madam.  — 
Your  wife  will  say  :  And  for  what  ?  You  will  reply  : 
For  my  happiness. 

Yes,  madam  (I  resume),  I  thank  you  for  loving  this 
kind  heart,  this  charming  mind,  this  un trammeled 
thinker,  this  generous  poet ;  I  thank  you  for  having 
discovered  all  his  worth,  and  for  having  said  to  your- 
self :  Nothing  is  lacking  to  him ;  he  is  an  exile. 

Your  letter,  dear  poet,  reached  us  that  very  Tuesday, 
the  23d.  I  said  to  myself :  It  is  impossible  to  go 
and  dine  there.  And  so  to  make  up  for  it  I  drank, 
we  all  drank,  your  health.  My  wife  sends  her  love  to 
yours. 

It  is  very  nice  of  you  to  have  remembered  me  when 
you  were  finishing  your  course  of  lectures.  They  will 
be  resumed  in  the  Grande  Place.  How  I  should  like  to 
be  at  No.  16  again  !  But  alas !  Napoleon  the  Little 
has  driven  me  out  of  Brussels.  Up  to  now  this  is  his 
only  exploit.  And  who  knows  if  I  shall  not  be  one  of 
those  who  will  drive  him  out  of  Paris  ? 

I  will  conclude  with  this  pleasant  idea  and  with  a 
kiss  on  both  cheeks,  i.  e.,  one  on  yours  and  one  on 
Mme  Deschanel's.  V.  H. 

Make  haste,  make  haste  with  the  little  promised 
Deschanel ! 


126  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XI. 

To  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  Vlih  November,  1854. 

MY  DEAR  DUMAS,  —  A  friend  has  cut  four  lines  out 
of  a  number  of  your  Mousquetaire  and  sent  me  them. 
In  these  four  lines  you  have  managed  to  put  two  great 
things,  your  mind  and  your  heart. 

I  thank  you  for  dedicating  your  drama  La  Con- 
science to  me.  My  solitude  had  some  claim  to  this 
remembrance.  The  dedication,  so  noble  and  so  touch- 
ing, makes  me  feel  as  if  I  were  home  again.  It  is  a 
delight  to  me  to  think  that  I  am  in  Paris  now,  and  con- 
nected with  a  success  of  Alexandre  Dumas.  I  am  told 
that  the  success  is  great  and  the  work  profound.  They 
resemble  my  friendship  for  you. 

Dear  comrade  in  action,  great  and  glorious  colleague, 
I  embrace  you. 

XII. 

To  MME.  DE  GIRARDDT. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  Wi  January,  1855. 

The  year  1855  has  had  a  daybreak  for  us,  —  your 
letter.  It  came  full  of  radiance,  like  the  dawn,  and, 
like  the  dawn,  with  some  tears.  In  reading  it  I  seemed 
to  see  your  beautiful  tranquil  face  which  resembles  hope. 
All  Marine  Terrace  was  illumined  for  a  moment  as  by 
a  flash  of  joy.  .  .  . 

/  am  in  no  hurry,  for  I  am  much  more  concerned 
with  the  morrow  than  with  to-day.  The  morrow  should 
be  formidable,  destructive,  reparative,  and  always  just. 
That  is  the  ideal.  Will  it  be  attained  ?  All  that  God 
does  is  good ;  but  when  He  works  through  man,  the 


TO  MME.  DE  GIRARDIST.  127 

tool  sometimes  goes  wrong  and  plays  tricks  in  spite 
of  the  workman.  Let  us  hope,  however,  and  prepare. 
The  Republican  party  is  ripening  slowly,  in  exile,  in 
proscription,  in  defeat,  in  trial.  There  must  be  a  little 
sunshine  in  adversity,  since  it  is  the  latter  which  makes 
the  crop  grow  and  fills  the  ear  of  corn  in  the  mind  of 
man. 

I  am  therefore  in  no  hurry,  I  am  sad  ;  it  pains  me 
to  wait,  but  I  wait,  and  I  find  that  waiting  is  good. 
What  preoccupies  me,  I  say  it  once  more,  is  the  enor- 
mous revolutionary  continuation  which  God  is  now 
bringing  on  the  stage  behind  the  Bonaparte  screen  ; 
I  kick  holes  in  this  screen,  but  I  do  not  wish  God  to 
remove  it  before  the  appointed  time.^1  You  are  right, 
however,  the  end  is  visible  even  now  :  1855  can  have 
no  other  issue  than  1812 ;  Balaklava  is  the  same  as 
Beresina ;  the  little  N.  will  fall  like  the  great  one  in 
Russia.  Only  the  Restoration  will  be  called  Revolu- 
tion. Your  name  is  JVIadame  de  Stael  as  well  as  Ma- 
dame de  Girardin ;  you  are  not  Delphine  for  nothing, 
and,  with  the  charming  indifference  of  a  heavenly 
luminary,  you  shed  your  rays  upon  the  cesspool. 

You  have  all  the  success  that  you  wish  for ;  yes- 
terday in  Moliere's  house,  to-day  in  M.  Scribe's.1  It 
suits  you  to  raise  vaudeville  to  the  rank  of  comedy,  and 
you  do  it,  and  Paris  applauds,  and  Jersey  recommends 
Guyot  to  pocket  a  good  round  sum  in  author's  dues, 
which  will  perhaps  bring  the  muse  to  this  Carpentras 
of  the  ocean.  For  you  half  promise  it  to  us ;  do  not 
forget  this  detail,  I  beg.  In  the  mean  while  our  Carpen- 

1  La  joie  fait  peur,  at  the   Comedie  Fran$aise,  and  Le  chapeau  d'un 
horloger,  at  the  Gymnase. 


128  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

tras  gives  balls,  at  which  your  flowers  produce  a  great 
effect.  Your  bouquet  and  my  daughter  danced  to- 
gether, the  one  wearing  the  other,  and  quite  astonished 
the  English,  whose  taste  for  pleasure  has  not  yet  been 
destroyed  by  the  Crimea.  I  am  told  that  Paris  is  not 
so  frolicsome,  and  I  can  understand  it.  Disgrace  is 
even  sadder  than  misfortune. 

For  the  rest,  a  belief  in  the  speedy  fall  of  M.  B.  is 
in  the  air ;  I  hear  it  from  all  sides.  Charles  said  just 
now  as  he  was  smoking  his  cigar :  "  1855  sera  une 


annee  ceuvee"  1 


I  talked  about  you  yesterday  with  Leflo,  who  ad- 
mires and  adores  you,  a  complaint  he  has  caught  from 
Marine  Terrace.  As  he  often  comes  to  see  me,  this 
leads  to  his  letters  being  opened  in  Paris,  and  some 
time  ago  the  prefect  of  police  is  said  to  have  sent  one 
to  the  Minister  of  War,  who  showed  it  to  Number  III., 
who  read  it,  and  said  :  "  Why,  Victor  Hugo  has  made 
a  Ked  of  Leflo."  Leflo  repeated  the  remark  to  me ;  I 
congratulated  him  on  it. 

Ten  months  hence  you  will  have  the  Contempla- 
tions.2 Send  me  your  new  success.  You  will  find 
inclosed  in  this  the  speech  you  mention,  which  has 
made  a  stir  in  England  and  has  drawn  down  upon  me 
a  threat  in  Parliament,  to  which  I  have  rejoined.  I 
send  you  my  rejoinder  in  this  envelope. 

The  tables 3  do  in  fact  tell  us  some  surprising  things. 
How  I  should  like  to  talk  with  you,  and  kiss  your 

1  Literally,  a  year  with  eggs  :  a  year  big  with  promise  for  the  future. 

2  The  volume  of  poetry  which  Victor  Hugo  was  then  writing. 

8  Table-turning,  which  Mme.  de  Girardin  had  introduced  into  Jersey, 
and  which  was  greatly  interesting  the  inmates  of  Marine  Terrace  just  at 
this  time. 


TO  EMILE  DESCHANEL.  129 

hands,  your  feet,  or  your  wings !     Did  Paul  Meurice 
tell  you  that  a  whole  quasi-cosmogonical  system,  hatched 
by  me  and  half  committed  to  paper  for  twenty  years, 
had  been  confirmed  by  the  tables  with  splendid  ampli- 
fications?     We  live  in  a  mysterious  landscape  which     v 
opens  out  new  prospects,  and  we  think  of  you,  to  whom      \ 
we  owe  this  glimpse  into  another  world. 

The  tables  enjoin  on  us  silence  and  secrecy.  You 
will  therefore  find  nothing  from  them  in  the  Contem- 
plations, with  the  exception  of  two  details,  of  great 
importance,  it  is  true,  for  which  I  have  asked  permis- 
sion (I  underline  these  words),  and  which  I  will  indi- 
cate by  a  note. 

XIII. 

To  EMILE  DESCHANEL,  at  Brussels. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  14$  January,  1855. 

I  am  working  almost  night  and  day,  I  am  sailing  in 
a  sea  of  poetry,  I  am  faint  with  excess  of  light ;  hence 
my  silence,  dear  poet,  but  I  love  you. 

Your  reproaches  are  just,  charming,  and  unjust.  I 
think  of  you  very  often.  On  Wednesday  evening^  I 
fancy  that  I  have  a  little  more  leisure  than  on  others ; 
and  then  my  flesh  says  to  my  spirit,  How  stupid  you 
are  !  it  is  too  far  to  go  to  his  lecture  this  evening. 

You  are  my  neighbor,  however ;  you  are  now  splen- 
didly lodged  in  the  Grande  Place  where  I  made  my 
nest  for  seven  months,  between  the  lofty  belfry  full  of 
memories  of  the  Duke  of  Alba  and  the  inkstand  out  of 
which  issued  Napoleon  le  Petit.  Do  you  remember  ? 
You  used  to  come  in  the  mornings ;  Charras  sat  in  one 
corner,  Lamoriciere  in  another,  smoking  Charles's  pipe ; 

Charles  and  Hetzel  on  the  sofa  which  served  me  for  a 
VOL.  n.  9 


130  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

bed ;  and  with  the  sunshine  streaming  into  my  broad 
window,  I  read  you  a  page  or  two  of  the  book.  What 
hearty  shakes  of  the  hand  we  gave  each  other  after- 
wards ! 

Now  all  has  assumed  other  colors,  rosy  for  you, 
sombre  for  me.  You  are  married  to  success,  to  happi- 
ness, to  a  charming  wife,  to  an  enamored  public,  to 
applause,  to  smiles ;  /  have  wedded  the  sea,  the  hurri- 
cane, a  vast  sandy  shore,  sadness,  and  the  starry  canopy 
of  heaven. 

I  wish  you  a  happy  New  Year,  madam,  with  two 
countries  and  two  men,  Belgium  plus  France,  and  your 
husband  plus  a  son.  Write  to  me,  dear  friend,  break 
in  upon  my  reveries  with  that  merry,  unaffected  laugh 
of  yours  that  I  like  so  much.  We  expect  the  little 
Franco-Belgian  at  the  appointed  time.  We  know  that 
you  take  good  aim. 

I  accept  your  two  kisses  and  send  you  four  in  return, 
one  on  each  cheek.  V.  H. 

Tell  my  excellent  friend  Hetzel  that  I  am  rowing 
hard  in  his  direction.  The  Contemplations  will  be 
an  exceptional  book.  If  ever  there  was  a  mirror  of  the 
soul,  it  will  be  this. 

XIV. 

To  MLLE.  MARIE  Huao1  (S<EUR  SAINTE-MARIE- JOSEPH). 

JERSEY,  22d  July,  [1855]. 

I  thank  you  for  your  present,  dear  child.  Your 
little  painting  is  charming ;  the  pink  color  is  like  your 

1  A  young  relative  of  the  poet,  who  took  the  veil  when  her  husband 
died  a  year  after  their  marriage. 


TO  MLLE.  MARIE  HUGO.  131 

face  and  the  dove  like  your  soul ;  it  is  almost  a 
painting  of  yourself  that  I  have,  pending  the  arrival  of 
the  other.  You  have  promised  it,  and  I  am  anxious 
to  have  it. 

The  lines  which  you  sent  us  this  spring  were  very 
graceful ;  there  were  some  very  sweet  and  happy  stan- 
zas on  you  especially.  Tell  this  from  me  to  the  writer 
of  them,  who  must  be  charming  if  she  is  like  her 
poetry. 

Dear  child,  so  you  are  about  to  accomplish  the 
solemn  act  of  leaving  the  world.  You  too  are  going 
into  exile ;  you  will  do  it  out  of  faith  as  I  have  done 
it  out  of  duty.  One  sacrifice  can  understand  another. 
Therefore  it  is  from  the  depths  of  my  heart  that  I  ask 
for  your  prayers  and  send  you  my  blessing. 

I  should  have  liked  to  see  you  once  more  on  that 
last  day  for  family  meetings  of  which  you  tell  me. 
God  does  not  permit  us  this  happiness  ;  He  has  his 
ways.  Let  us  be  resigned.  I  will  send  the  angel  whom 
I  have  above  to  visit  you.  All  that  you  are  doing  for 
your  brother  is  good ;  I  recognize  in  it  your  devoted, 
noble  heart.  Dear  child,  you  and  I  are  in  the  sweet 
and  austere  path  of  renunciation  ;  we  are  nearer  to 
each  other  than  you  imagine.  Your  serenity  comes  to 
me  as  a  reflection  of  my  own.  Love,  believe,  pray ;  be 
blessed. 


132  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XV. 

To  MlCHELET. 

MARINE  TERRACE,  2Ath  July,  1855. 

You  have  received  the  same  blow  as  I  have.  To- 
day death  pays  a  sudden  visit  to  your  house  as  it  did 
to  mine  twelve  years  ago.  You  have  lost  your  child, 
your  daughter,  your  darling,  and  you  are  in  tears.  I 
shed  the  same  tears  as  you,  and  that  is  all  that  I 
can  offer  to  your  sorrow.  0  great  mind,  you  are 
now  bleeding  from  the  heart.  It  is  only  the  heart 
which  really  bleeds.  All  other  sufferings  are  nothing 
in  comparison.  To  lose  one's  child  is  real  misfor- 
tune. There  is  no  such  desolation  or  exile  in  lif e  as 
this. 

I  say  nothing  to  a  soul  like  yours.  You,  who  will 
be  one  of  the  founders  of  the  earthly  kingdom,  you 
cannot  doubt  of  the  heavenly  kingdom.  Lbe]i^vft  in 
God  because  I  believe  in  man.  The  acorn  proves  to 
me  the  oak,  the  ray  the  star  ;  that  is  your  symbol,  and 
mine.  We  shall  meet  those  who  are  dear  to  us  here- 
after ;  your  daughter  is  now  by  the  side  of  mine ; 
henceforth  these  angels  smile  on  us  and  illumine  us ; 
and  even  without  your  knowing  it  there  are  more 
gleams  of  light  within  you.  This  brightness  comes 
from  death.  Dear  and  glorious  fighter  of  the  human 
fight,  poor  father,  I  embrace  you. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

I  have  just  read  some  admirable  pages  of  yours. 
But  is  this  a  time  to  speak  to  you  of  glory  ?  Yes,  for 
your  glory  is  "  a  soldier  of  God,"  and  is  ever  in  at- 


TO  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO.  133 

tendance  on  human  thought.     Let  your  labors,  which 
are  your  crown,  be  your  consolation. 

XVI. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

4to  August,  1855. 

I  hear  that  a  calamity  has  befallen  you.  You  have 
lost  a  little  child.  You  are  suffering. 

Will  you  allow  one  who  admires  you  and  loves  you 
to  take  your  hand  in  his  and  to  teh1  you  that  you  have 
all  his  sympathy?  Your  grief  is  mine,  for  the  same 
reason  that  makes  your  success  my  happiness.  Great 
soul,  I  suffer  in  you. 

I  believe  in  angels;  I  have  some  in  heaven,  I  have 
some  on  earth.  Your  little  darling  is  now  a  sweet 
winged  soul,  hovering  o'er  your  illustrious  head.  There 
is  no  death.  All  is  life,  love,  light,  or  waiting  for  the 
light.  I  offer  you  my  tender  respect.  I  regard  you 
with  sincere  affection. 

XVII. 
To  MME.  VICTOR  HUGO. 

GUERNSEY,1  3  P.  M.,  [1855]. 

Here  we  are  on  land,  dearest,  not  without  some  toss- 
ing. The  sea  was  rough,  the  wind  boisterous,  the  rain 
chilly,  the  fog  thick.  Jersey  is  not  so  much  as  a  cloud 
even  ;  it  has  disappeared  ;  there  is  nothing  on  the  hori- 
zon. I  seem  to  be  in  a  state  of  suspended  animation  ; 
when  you  are  all  here,  life  will  begin  again. 

1  Victor  Hugo,  having  been  expelled  from  Jersey  for  siding  with  the 
other  refugees,  had  sought  shelter  in  Guernsey,  and  preceded  his  family 
there. 


134  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

The  reception  was  good ;  there  was  a  crowd  on  the 
quay,  silent,  but  sympathetic,  apparently  so  at  least ; 
all  took  off  their  hats  as  I  passed. 

I  have  a  grand  view  before  me  as  I  write.  Even 
in  the  rain  and  fog  the  approach  to  Guernsey  is  splen- 
did. Victor  was  greatly  struck  by  it.  It  is  a  regu- 
lar old  Norman  port  with  hardly  anything  English 
about  it. 

The  consul  with  a  white  tie  on  (the  Laurent  of  this 
place)  was  present  when  I  landed.  Somebody  told  me 
that  he  raised  his  hat  like  the  others  when  I  passed. 

It  seems  that  the  local  authorities  have  said  that  we 
shall  be  unmolested  here,  provided  we  do  not  create 
any  difficulties.  We  are  looked  on  as  malefactors. 
But  volcanoes  are  not  to  be  extinguished  with  pails  of 
water. 

XVIII. 

To  MESSRS.  THOMAS  GREGSON  and  JOSEPH  COWEN,  of  New- 
castle, Members  of  the  Foreign  Affairs  Committee. 

GUERNSEY,  HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  25th  November,  1855. 

Dear  fellow-countrymen  of  the  great  fatherland  of 
Europe,  I  have  received  from  the  hands  of  our  brave 
co-religionist  Harney  the  communication  which  you 
have  been  so  good  as  to  address  to  me  on  behalf  of 
your  committee  and  of  the  meeting  held  at  Newcastle. 
I  thank  you,  as  well  as  your  friends,  for  it,  in  my  own 
name  and  in  that  of  my  fellow-combatants  and  fellow- 
exiles. 

It  was  impossible  that  the  expulsion  from  Jersey, 
that  this  proscription  of  the  proscribed,  should  not 
excite  public  indignation  in  England.  England  is  a 
great  and  generous  nation,  which  throbs  with  all  the 


TO  FRANZ  STEVENS.  135 

living  forces  of  progress ;  she  understands  that  liberty 
means  light.  But  what  has  just  been  done  in  Jersey 
is  a  night  attack  ;  it  is  an  invasion  of  darkness ;  it  is 
an  armed  assault  by  despotism  on  the  old  free  Consti- 
tution of  Great  Britain  ;  it  is  a  coup  d'etat  insolently 
launched  by  the  Empire  in  the  heart  of  England.  The 
expulsion  was  carried  out  on  the  2d  of  November ;  that 
is  an  anachronism,  it  should  have  taken  place  on  the 
2d  of  December. 

Pray  tell  my  friends  of  the  committee,  and  your 
friends  of  the  meeting,  how  much  we  were  touched 
by  their  noble  and  energetic  manifestation.  Such  acts 
may  serve  as  a  warning  and  a  check  to  those  of  your 
rulers  who  are  perhaps,  at  this  moment,  meditating  a 
fresh  attack  on  the  old  honor  of  England,  through  the 
shameful  Alien  Bill. 

Demonstrations  like  yours,  like  those  which  have  just 
taken  place  in  London,  like  those  which  are  in  prepara- 
tion at  Glasgow,  consecrate,  draw  closer,  and  cement, 
not  the  idle,  spurious,  baneful,  effete  alliance  between 
the  present  English  cabinet  and  the  Bonapartist  empire, 
but  the  true,  necessary,  eternal  alliance  between  the 
free  people  of  England  and  the  free  people  of  France. 

XIX. 

To  FRANZ  STEVENS,  at  Brussels. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  Wth  April,  1856. 

Your  name,  so  young  and  yet  assured  of  fame,  has 
a  sort  of  radiance  for  me.  The  first  time  I  heard  it 
I  was  arriving  in  Brussels ;  it  was  the  13th  or  14th  of 
December,  1851 ;  some  lines  were  placed  in  my  hands ; 
my  name  was  at  the  head,  yours  at  the  foot.  These 


136  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

lines  —  the  first  that  you  wrote,  I  believe  —  revealed  at 
that  early  stage  all  that  was  in  your  heart.  You  arose 
on  the  threshold  of  your  native  land  to  greet  the  man 
who  had  no  other  refuge  but  the  great  fatherland 
which  is  called  exile ;  and  you  offered  the  refugee  the 
hospitality  of  poets,  which  is  more  to  be  depended  on 
than  that  of  kings.  This  was  a  fine  beginning.  It 
has  brought  you  good  fortune.  From  that  day  on- 
ward your  poetical  gift  has  grown,  and  to-day  it  is  my 
turn  to  bid  you  welcome  on  the  threshold  of  that  other 
land  of  refuge,  art.  Five  years  ago  you  nobly  con- 
nected my  name  with  lines  which  were  a  wreath  of 
laurels  ;  allow  me  to-day  to  tell  you  in  prose  that  I  love 
you. 

You  are  not  a  Belgian  poet,  you  are  a  French  poet. 
You  have  the  grace,  the  brilliance,  the  life,  the  origi- 
nality in  details,  the  felicity  of  expression,  the  ease,  the 
freedom  of  movement,  the  proud  bearing  of  the  French 
writer.  The  union  of  Belgium  with  France  is  thus 
accomplished  by  writers  and  poets.  You  are  one  of 
those  who  generously  fling  between  the  two  nations 
the  splendid  connecting-link  of  style,  of  poetry,  of  the 
winged  strophe,  of  the  idea. 

You  and  I  belong  to  different  political  regions. 
You,  at  this  moment,  are  where  I  have  been.  Perhaps 
your  mature  age  will  reach  the  point  where  I  am  now, 
including  proscription,  which  I  hope  may  be  your  lot. 
You  deserve  it ;  for  whatever  the  formal  disagreement 
which  separates  us,  you  want  all  that  we  do,  we  the 
champions  of  the  right ;  you  wish  for  enlightenment, 
truth,  progress,  the  interment  of  the  past,  the  advent 
of  the  future ;  you  wish  to  see  the  end  of  misery,  of 


TO  FRANZ  STEVENS.  137 

ignorance,  of  perdition,  of  servitude,  of  darkness  ;  you 
desire,  under  the  sole  authority  of  God,  the  sovereign 
ego  in  the  free  individual.  This  is  the  kernel  of  your 
ideas ;  the  outer  husk  will  fall  from  it. 

You  and  I,  therefore,  are  the  same  man ;  we  touch 
each  other  ;  you  are  what  I  was  in  the  past,  I  am  what 
you  will  be  one  day.  You  are  to  me  the  mirror  of 
what  I  was ;  look  at  me  and  think  of  your  future. 

Within  a  given  time  your  reason  will  accomplish  the 
first  task,  and  your  conscience  the  second ;  and,  after 
all,  it  is  better  that  corrections  should  be  effected  by 
them.  What  these  inner  workers  bring  about  and 
rectify  is  always  the  best  part  of  us.  I  content  myself 
with  applauding,  with  crying  bravo  to  your  beautiful 
and  noble  lines ;  with  encouraging  your  brave  and 
energetic  mind  ;  yes,  bravo  and  courage  !  I  am  not  a 
French  writer  welcoming  a  Belgian  poet.  I  do  not 
belong  to  the  former  nation,  and  you  do  not  belong  to 
the  latter ;  for  me,  in  politics  there  are  only  men,  and 
in  poetry  poets  ;  and  whatever  standpoint  I  adopt,  I 
can  only  see  in  you  a  brother. 

I  write  this  to  you  somewhat  promiscuously,  some- 
what at  random.  Try  to  realize  the  state  of  my  mind 
in  the  splendid  solitude  in  which  I  live,  perched  as  it 
were  on  the  summit  of  a  rock,  with  all  the  grandeur 
of  the  waves  and  the  sky  before  me.  I  dwell  in  this 
immense  dream  of  the  ocean.  I  am  gradually  becom- 
ing a  somnambulist  of  the  sea;  and  in  face  of  all 
these  stupendous  phenomena  and  all  this  vast  living 
thought  in  which  I  lose  myself,  I  end  by  being  only  a 
sort  of  witness  of  God. 

It  is  from  this  never-ending  contemplation   that  I 


138  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

arise  to  write  to  you.  Therefore  take  my  letter  as  it  is, 
take  my  thoughts  as  they  come,  —  somewhat  discon- 
nected, somewhat  disarranged  by  all  this  gigantic  oscil- 
lation of  the  infinite.  What  is  fixed  and  steadfast  is 
the  soul  in  presence  of  God,  and  conscience  in  pre- 
sence of  truth  ;  and  also  —  and  I  will  end  by  this  — 
the  profound  sympathy  with  which  young  men  like  you 
inspire  me. 

xx. 

To   VlLLEMAEKT. 

m  May,  1856. 

I  read  your  letter  with  emotion.  We  start  almost 
from  two  opposite  poles  in  art,  but  grief  has  given  us 
a  great  trysting-place  in  truth,  and  I  am  not  surprised 
that  we  should  meet.  You  refresh  your  mind  —  that 
delicately  chased  Greek  goblet  —  at  the  sacred  limpid 
springs  from  which  human  thought  filters  and  falls 
drop  by  drop  throughout  the  ages.  /  am  in  the  wil- 
derness, alone  with  the  sea  and  with  grief,  drinking 
from  the  hollow  of  my  hand.  Your  drop  of  water  is  a 
pearl,  mine  is  a  tear. 

But  you,  too,  have  wept ;  you,  too,  have  suffered ; 
you,  too,  are  bleeding.  Hence  the  deep  sympathy  be- 
tween us ;  deeper  than  we  are  ourselves  aware  of,  and 
which  is  as  it  were  revealed  to  us  at  certain  moments. 
You  have  read  Horror,  Dolor?  and  you  have  recog- 
nized the  distant  sound  of  the  bell  which  all  sufferers 
and  thinkers  hear  in  the  night. 

Dear  friend,  I  often  think  of  you.  Exile  has  not 
only  detached  me  from  France,  it  has  almost  detached 
me  from  the  earth ;  and  there  are  moments  when  I 

1  Two  pieces  in  the  Contemplations. 


TO  LOUIS  BOULANGER.  139 

feel  as  if  I  were  dead,  and  when  I  seem  to  be  already 
living  the  great  sublime  life  beyond  the  tomb.  It  is 
then  that  my  thoughts  revert  to  all  those  whom  I  have 
loved  in  this  world  below.  .  .  . 

XXI. 

To   LOUIS   BOULANGER. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  2M  May,  [1856]. 

What  a  precious  possession,  dear  Louis,  is  the  endur- 
ing warmth  of  old  friendships  !  Your  letter  seemed  to 
bring  back  my  youth.  Je  nous  ai  revus,  —  this  jar- 
gon just  expresses  my  thoughts,  —  in  the  glorious  days 
of  the  Orientales,  when  we  were  two  passers-by  on  the 
plain  of  Vaugirard,  two  watchers  of  the  sun  setting 
behind  the  dome  of  the  Invalides,  two  brothers,  you 
the  dazzling  painter  of  Mazeppa,  I  the  dreamer  predes- 
tined to  strife  and  exile. 

You  are  happy  now ;  you  say  so  in  your  letter.  I 
feel  it  and  I  love  you. 

You  have  read  that  book,  and  you  know  my  feelings 
by  it.  I  know  yours  by  the  way  you  speak  to  me  of  it. 
I  should  now  like  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  your 
wife ;  I  am  sure  she  is  noble  and  charming.  In  my 
eyes  you  shine  as  it  were  in  a  soft  halo ;  you  seem  to 
me  to  have  kept  your  youth.  And  I,  from  the  depths 
of  the  vast  darkening  twilight  which  enfolds  me,  send 
you  and  her,  dear  Louis,  my  fondest  and  tenderest 
greeting. 


140  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XXII. 

To  BABTH^LEMY  ENFANTIN. 

GUERNSEY,  7th  June,  1856. 

I  thank  you,  dear  and  great  thinker;  your  letter 
touches  and  charms  me.  You  are  one  of  the  seers  of 
the  universe.  You  are  one  of  those  men  in  whom 
humanity  is  stirring,  and  with  whom  I  feel  a  profound 
sympathy. 

The  ideal  is  the  real.  Like  you,  I  live  with  my 
eyes  fixed  on  a  vision.  I  do  my  best  so  far  as  my 
strength  will  allow  to  help  mankind,  that  hapless  crowd 
of  brothers  we  have  there  who  are  walking  in  darkness, 
and  I  endeavor,  bound  to  the  chain  myself,  to  aid  my 
fellow-travelers,  by  my  example  as  a  man  in  the  pre- 
sent, and  by  my  writings  as  a  poet  in  the  future. 

Within  due  limits,  my  sympathy  embraces  all  cre- 
ated beings.  I  see  your  point  of  view,  and  I  accept  it, 
and  I  think  you  will  also  accept  mine.  Let  us  work 
towards  the  light.  Let  us  create  unbounded  love. 

In  those  two  books,  Dieu  and  La  Fin  de  Satan,  you 
may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  pass  over  woman  ;  I  shall 
go  even  further,  just  as  I  shall  go  beyond  the  things 
of  this  world.  These  two  works  are  almost  finished ; 
nevertheless,  I  want  to  leave  an  interval  between  them 
and  the  Contemplations.  I  should  like,  if  God  gives 
me  some  measure  of  strength,  to  carry  the  crowd  to 
certain  altitudes ;  yet  I  am  well  aware  that  there  is 
little  air  there  which  it  can  breathe.  I  therefore  wish 
it  to  rest  awhile  before  I  make  it  attempt  a  fresh  ascent. 

Alas !  I  am  of  very  little  account,  but  my  heart  is 
filled  with  deep  love  for  liberty,  which  is  man,  and  for 


TO  GEORGE  SAND.  141 

truth,  which  is  God.  You  have  this  twofold  love  as 
well  as  I ;  it  is  the  life  of  your  lofty  mind ;  and  it  is 
a  pleasure  to  me  to  greet  you  as  a  friend. 

XXIII. 

To  GEORGE  SAND.    < 

15th  June,  1856. 

Guernsey  should  be  called  Tibur,  Ferney,  or  Port 
Koyal,  to  be  able  to  send  a  fitting  reply  to  Nohant. 
But  Guernsey  is  only  a  poor  rock,  lost  in  the  seas  and 
in  the  darkness,  bathed  by  the  spray  which  leaves  on 
the  lips  a  salt  taste  of  tears,  with  no  merit  but  its  cliffs 
and  the  patience  with  which  it  bears  the  burden  of  the 
infinite.  The  little  sombre  island  is  proud  of  the  ray 
of  sunshine  which  comes  to  it  from  Nohant,  the  birth- 
place of  beautiful  and  charming  books.  Alas  !  sorrow 
is  everywhere,  the  grave  is  everywhere,  but  the  light  is 
where  you  are  !  I  thank  Heaven  if  my  book  has  been 
able  to  touch  your  grief  without  wounding  it,  and  if  it 
has  been  vouchsafed  to  me  —  to  me  who  am  sad  myself 
—  to  bring  some  balm  to  the  anguish  of  your  large 
heart,  0  great  thinker,  0  poor  mother  ! 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

XXIV. 

To  THE  SAME. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  30th  June,  1856. 

You  have  every  gift;  the  greatness  of  your  mind 
is  only  equaled  by  the  greatness  of  your  heart.  I 
have  just  been  reading  your  splendid  article  on  the 
Contemplations,  that  criticism  which  is  poetry,  that 
flow  of  thought,  of  life,  and  of  tenderness,  that  philoso- 
phy, that  reasoning,  that  gentleness,  that  powerful  and 


142  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

striking  exposition,  those  gems  which  drop  from  a  pen 
of  light.  What  is  there  for  me  to  say?  To  thank 
you  is  almost  stupid  ;  I  would  rather  congratulate  you. 
You  are  a  serene  nature ;  you  are  proud  because  you 
are  high-minded  ;  you  speak  of  this  book l  with  a  calm 
simplicity,  and  so  genuine  as  to  be  almost  haughty, 
when  one  compares  it  with  the  wretched  clevernesses  of 
so  many  other  minds.  I  said  of  you  to  my  children 
one  morning  at  breakfast,  —  this  is  our  autour  de  la 
table,  —  that  in  the  world  of  thought  you  were  the 
greatest  of  women,  perhaps  even  of  all  time.  .  .  . 

You  are  a  dweller  on  the  heights,  and  you  are  accus- 
tomed to  eyries ;  I  have  only  a  den.  But  I  should  like 
you  to  come  and  see  it;  let  me  roll  away  the  great 
stone  at  the  entrance  and  bid  you  enter. 

To  drop  metaphor  and  in  plain  prose  (how  can  I 
venture  to  use  this  epithet  to  you  who  write  such  grand 
prose?),  with  the  proceeds  of  the  first  two  editions  of 
the  Contemplations  I  have  just  bought  a  hovel  here  ; 
I  am  going  to  improve  it  and  add  to  it ;  and  there  will 
then  be  a  decent  room  for  you ;  will  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  come  ?  It  will  be  about  next  spring ;  you  see 
I  give  you  a  long  notice.  It  is  a  way  of  making  it 
almost  impossible  for  you  to  refuse.  You  will  be  in 
my  house  what  you  are  in  your  own,  that  is  to  say, 
free.  The  house  shall  have  the  name  "  Liberty ; "  it 
will  be  called  Liberty  House.  It  is  the  custom  in 
England  to  give  houses  names.  As  you  perhaps  know, 
my  family  and  I  live  in  the  most  simple  manner,  and 
in  this  respect  Guernsey  can  join  hands  with  Nohant. 
Think  over  it,  you  have  nearly  a  year  before  you,  and 

1  George  Sand  had  written  several  articles  on  the  Contemplations. 


TO  GEORGE  SAND.  143 

come  to  us.  If  you  only  knew  how  sincerely  I  mean 
this  invitation  !  You  will  walk  in  my  garden,  a  very 
small  one  ;  do  not  expect  your  vast  plains.  There  is 
so  much  sea  and  sky  here  that  one  hardly  needs  a  bit 
of  earth. 

My  wife  has  already  invited  you :  you  half  promised 
her  to  come ;  complete  the  promise  to  me.  It  will  give 
us  a  pleasure  on  which  we  shall  live  till  we  see  you. 
You  will  write  a  splendid  book  here  and  date  it  from 
Guernsey ;  be  kind  to  this  poor  old  rock  and  confer  on 
it  this  distinction.  I  have  marked  it  with  a  period  of 
ordeal,  do  you  mark  it  with  one  of  glory. 

One  thing  pleases  me,  and  that  is  that  my  book  Dieu 
(three  parts  finished)  anticipates  your  ideas.  It  seems 
as  if  you  must  have  read  it  when  you  wrote  that  letter 
from  Louise  which  concludes  your  admirable  articles. 
The  end  full  of  light,  that  is  what  I  desire  and  you 
desire,  and  the  good  Theodore  himself  (I  know  many 
such)  will  be  satisfied. 

You  are  an  esprit ;  consequently  I  say  to  you  famil- 
iarly, Thanks.  And  you  are  a  woman,  which  gives 
me  the  right  to  kneel  before  you  and  respectfully  to 
kiss  your  hand. 

xxv. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  2d  October,  1856. 

It  is  a  joy  to  me  to  think  that  your  great  mind 
turns  now  and  again  towards  mine ;  and  when  I  find 
my  name  in  your  noble  articles,  it  seems  as  if  they  were 
open  letters  from  you  to  me.  I  should  think  myself 
an  ungrateful  being  if  I  did  not  reply  to  them.  How- 


144  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

ever,  you  do  not  need  thanks  or  applause.  In  this 
age,  when  almost  every  one  is  more  or  less  insincere, 
you  have  the  proud,  simple  bearing  of  a  genuine  char- 
acter. In  my  solitude  this  communion  of  our  souls,  I 
may  almost  say  of  our  hearts,  makes  me  silently  and 
profoundly  happy.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  linked  to  you 
in  the  contemplation  of  truth  and  the  acceptance  of 
sorrow ;  and  I  hail  your  serene  and  impressive  testimony 
in  favor  of  progress.  Whoever  despairs  of  man  de- 
spairs of  God,  —  that  is  to  say,  does  not  believe  in  Him. 
And  all  religions  in  the  present  day  are  atheistical ;  all 
curse  the  light,  —  that  is  to  say,  the  very  dawn  of  the 
heavenly  countenance.  You  have  faith  because  you 
are  great.  I  thank  you,  I  admire  you,  and,  allow  me 
to  add,  I  love  you. 

XXVI. 

To  THE  STUDENTS  OF  PAKIS. 

1856. 

Young  and  courageous  fellow-citizens,  your  noble 
and  cordial  letter  has  reached  me  in  my  solitude,  and 
has  touched  me  deeply.  I  have  very  little  time  to  my- 
self ;  exile  is  no  sinecure,  as  you  are  aware ;  and  I  take 
the  first  opportunity  at  my  disposal  to  reply  to  you  and 
to  thank  you.  Courage,  and  persevere. 

The  eyes  of  the  future  rest  on  such  as  you.  Among 
the  signatures  to  the  valuable  letter  which  I  receive,  I 
see  some  which  represent  talent,  others  which  represent 
example ;  all  represent  generosity,  intelligence,  and 
moral  worth.  Your  trials  are  beginning  early  ;  rejoice 
in  it.  Your  sufferings  nobly  borne  place  you  at  the 
head  of  your  generation.  Be  always  worthy  of  direct- 


TO  EDMOND  ABOUT.  145 

ing  it.  Let  nothing  unsettle  or  discourage  you.  The 
future  is  certain.  Wait  for  it  amid  the  affliction  and 
darkness  of  the  present  moment  as  one  waits  for  the 
dawn  in  the  night,  with  quiet  and  perfect  faith.  Work 
and  advance ;  think,  and  you  will  discover ;  struggle, 
and  you  will  conquer. 

I  greet  you  all  as  I  would  my  brothers  or  my  chil- 
dren. 

XXVII. 

To  EDMOND  ABOUT. 
HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  23d  December,  [1856]. 

Exile  has  but  little  leisure,  and  it  is  only  here  in 
the  sort  of  temporary  lull  which  always  foUows  a  re- 
newal of  persecution,  that  I  have  at  last  been  able  to 
read  your  two  fine  and  charming  volumes,  Tolla  and 
La  Grece.  My  sons,  your  old  school-fellows,  have  often 
mentioned  you  to  me.  You  have  achieved  all  that  they 
prophesied  of  you,  and  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my 
heart.  You  are  gifted,  you  are  successful,  you  are 
young ;  your  responsibility  for  others  is  beginning. 

An  outlaw  is  a  sort  of  dead  man  ;  he  can  almost  give 
advice  from  beyond  the  grave.  Be  faithful  to  all  those 
great  ideas  of  liberty  and  progress  which  are  the  very 
breath  of  the  future  for  all  humanity,  for  the  people 
as  well  as  for  the  genius. 

Despise  all  that  is  not  true.  gre^j:Ljust1..^fl4.'bft^1Jti^11^- 
Your  nature  is  an  enlightened  one.  I  need  only  say 
to  you  :  Be  true  to  yourself. 

Take  courage,  then.  You  are  entering  bravely  and 
successfully  into  the  future. 

VOL.  II.  10 


146  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XXVIII. 

To  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 

HAUTE VILLE  HOUSE,  8th  March,  1857. 

DEAR  DUMAS,  —  The  Belgian  newspapers  bring  me, 
with  all  the  splendid  comments  which  you  deserve,  the 
letter  which  you  have  just  written  to  the  director  of  the 
Theatre  Franqais. 

Great  hearts  are  like  great  suns.  They  contain  their 
own  light  and  warmth.  You  have  no  need,  therefore, 
of  praise ;  you  do  not  even  need  thanks ;  but  I  must 
tell  you  that  I  love  you  more  every  day,  not  only 
because  you  are  one  of  the  marvels  of  the  age,  but 
also  because  you  are  one  of  its  consolations. 

I  thank  you. 

But  pray  come  here  ;  you  know  you  promised  to  do 
so.  Come  and  receive  the  greetings  of  all  who  sur- 
round me,  and  who  will  not  gather  round  you  less  loyally 
than  round  me. 

Your  brother. 

XXIX. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  12th  April,  1857. 

Daniella  is  a  great  book  and  a  beautiful  book  ;  allow 
me  to  tell  you  so.  I  do  not  touch  on  the  political  side 
of  the  work,  for  the  only  things  that  I  could  write  about 
Italy  could  not  be  read  in  France,  and  would  probably 
prevent  my  letter  from  reaching  you.  I  am  speaking 
to  you,  to  you  the  artist,  about  the  work  of  art.  As 
for  all  the  great  aspirations  towards  liberty  and  pro- 
gress, they  are  necessarily  part  of  your  nature ;  and  a 


TO  ARSEKE  HOUSSAYE.  147 

poetical  genius  like  yours  is  always  on  the  side  of  the 
future.  The  revolution  is  light,  and  what  are  you  but 
a  torch  ? 

I  look  on  Daniella  as  a  profound  study  of  all  the 
aspects  of  the  heart.  It  is  masterly  because  it  is 
womanly.  You  have  put  into  this  book  all  that  femi- 
nine delicacy  which,  blended  with  your  masculine  power, 
makes  up  your  strong  and  charming  individuality.  As 
a  painter  I  would  stand  up  for  all  the  old  ruins  of 
Italy  against  you ;  and  in  particular  for  that  dazzling 
and  imposing  Campagna  of  Rome  which  I  saw  as  a 
child,  and  which  has  remained  in  my  mind  and  become 
impressed  on  my  vision  as  if  I  had  beheld  a  mixture  of 
sunshine  and  death.  But  what  does  this  matter  to  you? 
You  continue  your  course  full  of  light  and  inspiration ; 
you  scatter  around  you  brilliant,  generous,  cruel,  gentle, 
tender,  haughty,  smiling,  consoling  pages,  and  you  know 
that,  after  all,  the  sympathies  of  every  reader  are  with 
you  as  a  writer,  just  as  all  minds  are  fascinated  by  your 
intellect. 

So  accept  my  homage  with  that  of  the  rest.  My 
house  is  nearly  finished,  and  humbly  hopes  to  receive 
you  ;  and  I  respectfully  kiss  your  hand. 

XXX. 

To  ARSENE  HOUSSAYE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  16$  January,  1858. 

Your  letter,  my  dear  poet,  has  just  reached  me 
through  our  Brussels  friend.  It  touches  me  deeply. 
You  have,  like  me,  your  beloved  grave,  your  dear  spirit, 
your  never  healing  wound.  Between  our  souls  is  the 
great  link  of  a  common  sorrow.  When  the  blow  fell 


148  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

on  you,  I  thought  of  you,  I  recalled  that  charming 
woman,  now  a  spirit.  Alas !  to  lose  those  we  love  is 
the  only  real  sorrow ;  all  the  rest  is  nothing ;  I  have 
said  so  in  the  book  of  which  you  speak  in  such  high 
terms. 

Take  courage ;  you  have  all  the  great  consolations  of 
poetry  and  art,  and  who  should  hope  more  than  the 
poet  ?  Hecho  de  esperar,  as  Calderon  says. 

XXXI. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  28th  May,  1858. 

Do  you  ever  happen  to  think  of  me  a  little  ?  I  fancy 
it  must  be  so,  for  I  glide  so  gently  and  naturally  into 
thoughts  of  you. 

I  have  just  been  reading  Les  beaux  messieurs  de 
Bois-Dore,  and  every  time  I  read  one  of  your  books 
my  heart  expands  with  joy.  I  delight  in  all'the  strength, 
in  all  the  grace,  in  the  beautiful  style,  in  the  lofty  mind, 
in  the  charming  discoveries  on  every  page,  in  feeling 
the  throbs  of  the  powerful  philosophy  underneath  the 
caressing  poetry,  and  in  finding  such  a  great  man  in  a 
woman.  Permit  me  to  tell  you  that  my  sympathies  are 
entirely  yours. 

My  house  is  still  but  a  hovel ;  it  has  been  taken 
possession  of  by  worthy  Guernsey  workmen,  who,  be- 
lieving that  I  am  grand,  think  themselves  justified  in 
making  a  little  money  out  of  "  the  rich  French  gentle- 
man," and  in  prolonging  the  work  and  the  profit.  I 
imagine,  however,  that  it  will  be  finished  one  day ;  and 
that  then,  perhaps,  in  some  time  or  other,  you  will  take 
a  fancy  to  come  to  it,  and  consecrate  a  small  corner  of 


TO  JULES  SIMON.  149 

it  by  your  presence  and  your  memory.     What  do  you 
say  to  that  illusion  ? 

What  a  treasure  illusions  are  !  I  love  them,  but  I 
love  realities  still  more,  and  a  woman  like  you  is  a 
glorious  reality  in  an  age.  Write,  console,  instruct, 
continue  your  grand  work ;  live  amongst  us  with  the 
indulgent  serenity  of  great  affronted  souls, 

XXXII. 

To  JULES  SIMON. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  25th  June,  [1859]. 

Your  fine  book  La  Liberte  has  been  a  long  time  in 
reaching  me,  and  I  have  spent  a  long  time  in  reading 
it  and  meditating  on  it.  Do  not  be  surprised,  then,  at 
my  slowness  in  thanking  you  for  it ;  I  do  not  apologize 
for  this ;  the  delay  is  of  small  importance  :  works  like 
yours  can  afford  to  wait,  because  they  will  last. 

It  is  almost  a  code  that  you  have  written  ;  from  one 
end  to  the  other  there  is  a  genuine  breath  of  legisla- 
tion. 

It  has  often  happened  to  me  in  reading  your  works 
to  feel  the  kind  of  surprise  and  delight  that  one  ex- 
periences on  finding  one's  own  thoughts  admirably 
expressed  by  another  person.  Your  chapter  on  pro- 
perty, in  particular,  is  one  of  the  profoundest  and  most 
telling  parts  of  your  book.  It  is  a  great  gift,  and 
you  possess  it,  to  be  able  to  enforce  irrefutable  theories 
by  a  captivating  style.  These  two  volumes,  in  which 
history  is  so  powerfully  appealed  to  in  support  of  phi- 
losophy and  facts  in  support  of  ideals,  will  rank  as  a 
great  work.  You  have  selected  the  right  moment  for 
defending  liberty ;  there  is  no  better  time  than  the 
darkness  for  glorifying  the  light. 


150  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XXXIII. 

To  AD^ILE  HUGO,  in  London. 

21st  July,  1859. 

You  are  wrong,  dear  child ;  a  smile  and  a  kiss  from 
you  are  more  precious  to  me  than  all  the  flowers  here 
below  and  all  the  light  from  above.  I  long  to  see  your 
mother  and  you  again  ;  my  birthday  is  a  sad  affair 
nowadays  :  last  year  illness  and  this  year  absence. 

However,  if  you  both  return  in  good  health,  I  shall 
think  that  all  is  for  the  best.  But  you  have  chosen  a 
bad  time  for  your  trip  ;  I  hear  on  all  sides  that  London 
is  infected  and  poisoned  by  the  Thames  in  the  summer  ; 
the  papers  are  full  of  horrid  details  of  the  cleansing 
process  which  has  been  necessarily  suspended.  So  make 
haste  and  get  out  of  that  fever-den. 

All  is  well  at  Hauteville.  Charles  is  resting,  Lux l 
reflecting,  Toto  2  grinding  away,  Chougna  3  meditating, 
I  am  working,  the  garden  perfumes  the  air.  I  assure 
you  we  have  roses  coming  into  bloom  which  look  as  if 
they  would  outlast  the  Palmerston  Ministry,  and  that 
we  too  have  a  first-rate  concert,  gratis,  of  waves,  of 
breezes,  and  of  birds.  Beethoven's  is  the  only  music  I 
could  listen  to  after  that  which  I  have  here. 

I  hope,  dear  child,  that  you  too  will  get  to  like  it 
some  day,  and  that,  with  your  fine  feeling  for  melody 
and  harmony,  you  will  not  always  be  insensible  to  the 
great  symphony  of  God. 

My  garden  is  the  dress  circle  at  that  opera.  Come 
back  to  it,  my  beloved  daughter,  with  your  dear  mother, 
as  soon  as  possible.  I  embrace  you  both  tenderly. 

1  Charles  Hugo's  dog.         fl  Francois  Hugo.         8  Victor  Hugo's  dog. 


TO  VILLEMAIN.  151 

XXXIV. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  21s£  August,  1859. 

Will  you  allow  me  to  remind  you  that  I  am  still 
your  slave?  It  is  in  my  nature  to  persist,  and  at  any 
rate  it  is  not  in  my  admiration  and  tender  respect  for 
you  that  I  could  fail.  Do  not  therefore  put  down  my 
long  intervals  of  silence  to  f  orgetf  ulness. 

I  work  and  meditate  in  my  solitude,  and  I  think  of 
the  noble  minds  who,  like  you,  fan  the  flame  of  the 
great  Vestal  called  the  Idea  in  France.  Yes,  you  have 
the  ideal  within  you;  pour  it  forth,  pour  it  on  the 
hapless  multitude  of  to-day  steeped  in  materialism  and 
brutality ;  discharge  your  august  function  of  priestess, 
and  you  will  earn  my  heartfelt  thanks. 

As  I  am  writing  to  you,  I  will  not  conclude  with- 
out inclosing  some  lines  which  I  cannot  publish  in 
France,  and  which  you  will  readily  understand,  on  the 
last  piece  of  insolence  of  this  wretched  reussisseur.1 

When  will  you  come  to  illumine  my  darkness  ?  — 
Dear  and  great  mind,  I  love  and  venerate  you. 

XXXV. 

To  VILLEMAIN. 
HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  17th  November,  1859. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Do  you  know  what  exile  means  ? 
It  means  waiting  for  six  months  to  hear  words  uttered 
by  you,  who  are  one  of  the  illustrious  speakers  of  the 
age.  A  friend  from  Paris  came  to  see  me  yesterday. 

1  The  amnesty  proposal  of  1859,  rejected  by  a  number  of  exiles  with 
Victor  Hugo  at  their  head. 


152  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

He  had  the  happy  idea  of  putting  into  his  trunk  your 
book  on  Pindar,  and  since  yesterday  I  have  done  nothing 
but  read  that  excellent  and  profound  work.  I  bathe 
in  Pindar  and  in  you  as  in  a  life-giving  stream.  You 
translate  Pindar  as  you  feel  him,  as  you  interpret  him, 
powerfully,  and  when  I  say  Pindar,  I  include  ^schy- 
lus,  Sophocles,  Aristophanes,  Horace,  all  those  divine 
genuine  poets.  Their  spirit  has  completely  saturated 
yours.  Your  prose  does  not  clip  those  grand  wings. 

The  reason  is  that  with  the  noblest  instincts  and  the 
most  steadfast  courage  you  combine  the  flame  of  enthu- 
siasm. Your  book  is  a  history  in  which  at  times  one 
feels  the  throb  of  poetry.  The  last  few  pages  are  a 
splendid  ode  to  the  future. 

I  do  not  perhaps  agree  with  you  on  every  point,  but 
that  is  of  small  importance.  I  regard  your  book  as  I 
do  you,  with  profound  esteem.  An  occasional  greet- 
ing from  you,  in  the  Chamber,  or  at  the  Academy,  or 
by  the  fireside,  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  my  native 
land  which  I  miss  the  most. 

In  two  passages  of  your  fine  book  you  allude  to  me 
with  a  sort  of  tender  emotion  which  goes  to  my  heart.  I 
thank  you.  I  have  been  resting  in  you  for  the  last  few 
hours  as  in  a  haven  of  the  mind.  I  need  these  periods 
of  rest  sometimes  in  my  solitude,  in  face  of  the  ocean, 
amid  this  sombre  scenery  which  has  a  supreme  attrac- 
tion for  me,  and  which  draws  me  toward  the  dazzling 
apparitions  of  the  infinite.  Sometimes  I  spend  the 
whole  night  meditating  on  my  fate,  before  the  great 
deep,  and  at  times  all  I  can  do  is  to  exclaim :  Stars ! 
stars !  stars ! 

Your  book  is  one  of  those  which  gently  produces  a 


TO  ALEXASTDRE  DUMAS.  153 

change  of  ecstasy.  Instead  of  the  sea-eagle,  I  watched 
Pindar  soar.  I  listened  as  you  narrated  —  and  with 
what  exalted  eloquence  !  —  the  history  of  enthusiasm, 
that  is  to  say,  of  human  genius.  And  in  the  way  in 
which  you  pronounce  that  lofty  and  enchanting  word, 
"  Liberty,"  I  recognized  the  very  echo  of  my  soul. 
I  press  your  two  hands  in  mine,  my  illustrious  friend. 

XXXVI. 

To  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  llth  December,  1859. 

It  is  you,  dear  Dumas,  whom  I  must  congratulate 
on  your  son's  last  success l  and  on  all  his  successes. 
How  truly  admirable  and  delightful !  the  father  par- 
taking of  the  fame  of  the  son,  the  son  sharing  in  the 
glory  of  the  father. 

Yes,  you  are  indeed  a  pere  prodigue ;  you  have 
given  him  everything,  striking  situations,  ardent  pas- 
sion, lifelike  dialogue,  sparkling  style ;  and  at  the  same 
time  —  a  miracle  quite  simple  in  art  —  you  have  kept 
everything;  you  have  made  him  rich  without  impov- 
erishing yourself. 

And  he,  on  his  side,  manages  to  be  original,  while 
remaining  your  son ;  he  is  you  and  he  is  himself.  Pray 
embrace  him  for  me. 

I  also,  anch'  io,  have  sons  who  make  me  happy  (and, 
I  add  in  a  whisper,  proud,  for  we  fathers  are  obliged  to 
be  modest  about  our  children),  and  it  is  as  a  proud 
father  that  I  congratulate  you,  the  glorious  one.  But 
let  this  be  said  discreetly  and  between  ourselves. 

So  you  are  starting.     If  I  were  Horace,  how  I  would 

1  Alluding  to  the  performance  of  Le  pere  prodigue. 


154  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

sing  to  Virgil's  ship  !  You  are  going  to  the  land  of 
the  sun,  to  Italy,  to  Greece,  to  Egypt;  you  will  sail 
on  sapphire  waters,  you  will  behold  the  smiling  sea. 
/  remain  in  the  gloomy  one.  My  Ocean  envies  your 
Mediterranean.  Go,  be  radiant,  be  great,  and  come 
back.  Te  referent fluctus  ! 

Your  friend. 

XXXVII. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 
HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  20th  December,  1859. 

I  thank  you  for  your  delightful  and  grand  words. 
You  speak  to  me  of  the  Legende  des  siecles  in  terms 
of  which  Homer  would  be  proud.  I  am  pleased  that 
this  book  has  arrested  your  bright  steadfast  gaze  for  a 
few  moments. 

Just  now  I  am  overwhelmed  with  grief.  They  have 
killed  John  Brown.  The  murder  took  place  on  the  2d 
of  December.  The  promised  respite  was  an  infamous 
device  for  lulling  popular  indignation.  And  it  is  a 
republic  which  has  done  this  !  What  sinister  folly  it 
is  to  be  an  owner  of  men ;  and  see  what  it  leads  to ! 
Here  is  a  free  nation  putting  to  death  a  liberator  ! 
Alas  !  my  heart  is  indeed  sad.  The  crimes  of  kings 
one  can  understand :  a  king's  crime  has  nothing  ab- 
normal about  it;  but  crimes  committed  by  a  people 
are  intolerable  to  the  thinker. 

I  am  reading  your  admirable  letter  over  again  with 
delight  and  consolation.  You  too  have  your  trials. 
For  me,  who  often  gaze  at  you,  they  enhance  the  sweet 
and  lofty  calm  of  your  countenance. 

I  respect  and  admire  you. 


TO  THECEL.  155 

XXXVIII. 
To  HENRI  DE  LACRETELLE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  1th  February,  1860. 

There  is  no  consolation,  dear  poet,  for  grief  such  as 
yours.  Alas  !  that  charming  woman,  that  flower  of 
your  youth,  that  dawn  of  your  life,  that  luminous 
vision  of  our  past,  has  really  gone  !  She  was  a  sweet 
apparition,  she  is  now  a  spirit.  We  are  born  to  lose 
all  that  is  best  here  below.  It  is  seventeen  years  ago 
that  an  angel  I  had,  my  daughter,  departed;  but  I 
have  her  still ;  I  cannot  see  her,  but  I  feel  her  in  my 
life,  and  I  await  her  when  I  die.  You  too  now  turn 
your  thoughts  in  this  direction.  It  is  the  law  of  life. 
We  must  die  successively  in  all  those  whom  we  love,  to 
live  again  in  them  hereafter. 

You  have  all  the  great  and  serious  interests  of 
poetry  and  art ;  your  noble  mind  will  heal  the  wounds 
of  your  broken  heart. 

Courage,  dear  poet.     I  press  your  hand  tenderly. 

XXXIX. 

To  THECEL,  of  the  Independence  Beige. 

February,  1860. 

I  have  just  read  a  delightful  article  of  yours,  bril- 
liant and  serious  at  the  same  time,  on  George  Sand's 
tales  of  rural  life.  I  commend  you  heartily,  and  I 
thank  you  for  having  praised  George  Sand,  especially 
at  the  present  moment.  There  is  an  unsatisfactory 
tendency  just  now  to  disparage  her  great  reputation 
and  eminent  talents.  The  first  symptoms  of  this  some- 
what virulent  epidemic  appeared  several  years  ago. 


156  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

True,  no  one  understands  and  admits  more  readily 
than  I  do  the  lofty  and  serious  criticism  to  which  ^Es- 
chylus,  Isaiah,  Dante,  and  Shakespeare  themselves  have 
to  submit,  and  which  has  the  same  rights  over  the  spots 
in  Homer  as  the  astronomer  has  over  the  spots  on  the 
sun ;  but  the  fierceness  of  literary  hatreds,  the  rancor 
of  men  against  a  woman,  and  even  assize  court  rhetoric 
directed  against  a  high-minded  and  illustrious  writer, 
these  I  do  resent ;  they  surprise  and  offend  me  deeply. 

George  Sand  is  a  luminous  heart,  a  beautiful  charac- 
ter, a  generous  combatant  on  the  side  of  progress,  a 
light  of  our  age ;  she  is  a  far  more  genuine  and  power- 
ful philosopher  than  certain  good  people  who  enjoy 
more  or  less  notoriety  just  at  the  present  moment. 
And  yet  this  thinker,  this  poet,  this  woman,  is  the  vic- 
tim of  a  sort  of  blind  and  unjust  reaction  !  I  repeat 
the  word  reaction,  for  it  has  several  meanings,  and 
includes  everything. 

For  my  part,  I  have  never  felt  more  disposed  to 
honor  George  Sand  than  now  when  she  is  being  in- 
sulted. 

XL. 

To  CHAMPFLEUBT. 

HAUTEVILLE  Housp,  18th  March,  1860. 

I  hasten  to  answer  your  affectionate  letter.  The 
undertaking  you  have  in  hand,  successfully  carried  out 
by  a  man  like  you,  cannot  but  promote  the  intellectual 
movement  now  in  progress. 

Art  is  not  perfectible  ;  that  constitutes  its  greatness, 
and  that  is  the  source  of  its  eternity  (I  use  this  word 
of  course  in  the  human  sense).  ^Eschylus  remains 
^Eschylus,  even  after  Shakespeare;  Homer  remains 


TO  M.  HEURTELOU  157 

Homer,  even  after  Dante ;  Phidias  remains  Phidias, 
even  after  Michael  Angelo.  Only  the  appearance  of 
Shakespeares,  of  Dantes,  and  of  Michael  Angelos  is  not 
limited ;  the  constellations  of  yesterday  do  not  block 
the  path  of  the  constellations  of  the  morrow ;  and  for 
a  good  reason,  because  the  infinite  cannot  be  crowded. 
So  forward  !  there  is  room  for  all.  We  cannot  sur- 
pass geniuses,  but  we  may  equal  them.  God,  who  has 
created  the  human  brain,  is  inexhaustible  and  fills  it 
with  bright  luminaries. 

As  long  ago  as  1830  I  said,  rejecting  all  appellations 
which  are  transitory  and  which  characterize  nothing: 
The  literature  of  the  nineteenth  century  will  have  but 
one  name ;  it  will  be  called  democratic  literature.  It 
will  have  but  one  aim  :  the  increase  of  human  enlight- 
enment through  the  combined  action  of  the  real  and 
the  ideal, 

The  novel  is  almost  a  conquest  of  modern  art ;  the 
novel  is  one  of  the  forces  of  progress  and  one  of  the 
resources  of  human  genius  in  this  great  nineteenth 
century ;  and  you,  by  the  precision  as  well  as  the  ele- 
vation of  your  mind,  are  one  of  the  masters  of  it. 

XLI. 

To  M.  HEURTELOU,  editor  of  the  Progres  at  Port-au-Prince 
(Haiti). 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  31st  March,  1860. 

Your  letter  touches  me.  You  are  a  noble  specimen 
of  that  colored  race  which  has  been  so  long  oppressed 
and  misunderstood.  From  one  end  of  the  earth  to  the 
other  the  same  flame  burns  in  man,  and  you  are  one  of 
those  who  prove  it.  Was  there  more  than  one  Adam  ? 


158  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Philosophers  may  discuss  the  question,  but  what  is  cer- 
tain is  that  there  is  but  one  God.  As  there  is  but  one 
Father,  we  are  all  brothers.  It  was  for  this  truth  that 
John  Brown  died ;  it  is  for  this  truth  that  I  fight. 
You  thank  me  for  it,  and  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much 
your  noble  words  move  me.  There  is  neither  black 
nor  white  in  the  world,  there  are  spirits  only  ;  you  are 
one  of  them.  All  souls  are  white  before  God. 

I  love  your  country,  your  race,  your  liberty,  your 
republic.  Your  beautiful  island  has  an  attraction  just 
now  for  free  spirits  ;  she  has  just  set  a  great  example  : 
she  has  crushed  despotism. 

She  will  help  us  to  crush  slavery.  For  slavery  will 
disappear.  What  the  Southern  States  have  just  killed 
is  not  John  Brown,  but  slavery. 

Henceforth  the  American  Union  may  be  looked  on 
as  broken  up.  I  deeply  regret  it,  but  it  is  a  foregone 
conclusion.  Between  the  North  and  the  South  there  is 
the  gibbet  of  John  Brown. 

Joint  responsibility  is  no  longer  possible.  The  bur- 
den of  such  a  crime  cannot  be  borne  by  two  persons. 
Continue  your  task,  you  and  your  worthy  fellow-citi- 
zens. Haiti  is  now  a  centre  of  light.  It  is  a  grand 
thing  that  among  the  torches  of  progress  which  light 
the  path  of  mankind,  one  should  be  seen  in  the  hands 
of  the  negro. 

Your  brother. 


TO  THE  RIBEYROLLES  COMMITTEE.  159 

XLII. 

To  THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE  COMMITTEE  for  erecting  a  monument 
to  Ribeyrolles,  at  Rio-de-Janeiro. 

4th  November,  1860. 

GENTLEMEN,  —  Ribeyrolles  sought  a  home  with  you, 
and  he  wrote  a  fine  book  about  you,  a  book  worthy  of 
your  noble  nation,  of  your  illustrious  history,  of  your 
beautiful  country.  He  noted  with  enthusiastic  sym- 
pathy your  more  and  more  enlightened  advance  in  the 
direction  of  progress.  He  has  done  fraternal  justice  to 
you  in  the  name  of  democracy  and  civilization.  Many 
pages  of  his  book  are  like  marble  tablets  on  which  your 
glory  is  written,  on  which  your  future  is  predicted.  He 
died  at  this  task,  he  died  an  exile,  he  died  poor ;  you 
Brazilians  owed  him  a  debt ;  you  have  decided  to  repay 
it  in  a  splendid  fashion. 

Ribeyrolles  had  erected  a  monument  to  Brazil ;  Bra- 
zil raises  a  memorial  to  Ribeyrolles.  All  honor  to  you ! 
To  receive  in  this  way,  and  to  make  such  a  return,  is 
doubly  admirable. 

You  desire  an  epitaph  for  his  tomb,  and  it  is  to  me 
that  you  apply;  you  ask  for  my  signature  on  the  monu- 
ment. I  am  deeply  sensible  of  the  honor  you  do  me. 
I  thank  you  for  it. 

From  the  dawn  of  history,  two  sorts  of  men  have 
led  mankind  :  the  oppressors  and  the  liberators.  The 
former  sway  it  for  evil,  the  latter  for  good.  Of  all 
liberators  the  thinker  is  the  most  effective  ;  his  action 
is  never  violent;  the  mildest  of  powers,  and  conse- 
quently the  greatest,  is  the  mind.  The  mind  inflicts 
deadly  blows  on  evil.  Thinkers  emancipate  the  human 


160  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

race.  They  suffer,  but  they  triumph  ;  they  accomplish 
the  salvation  of  others  by  the  sacrifice  of  themselves. 
They  may  die  in  exile ;  but  no  matter,  their  ideal  sur- 
vives them,  and  continues  after  their  death  the  work  of 
liberty  they  began  during  their  life. 

Charles  Kibeyrolles  was  a  liberator. 

The  emancipation  of  all  peoples  and  of  all  men,  — 
that  was  his  aim.  Humanity  free,  the  nations  brothers, 
—  that  was  his  sole  ambition. 

This  rooted  idea,  which  was  destined  to  end  in  his 
exile  and  his  glory,  is  what  I  have  tried  to  set  forth 
in  the  six  lines  which  I  send  you,  and  which  you  can 
engrave  on  his  tomb  if  you  think  fit. 

For  my  part,  I  rejoice  in  the  appeal  which  you 
make  to  me.  I  respond  to  it  with  alacrity.  You  are 
noble  men,  yours  is  a  generous  nation;  you  possess  the 
double  advantage  of  a  virgin  soil  and  an  ancient  race  ; 
you  are  linked  to  the  great  historical  past  of  the  civiliz- 
ing continent;  you  mingle  the  light  of  Europe  with 
the  sun  of  America.  It  is  in  the  name  of  France  that 
I  honor  you. 

Ribeyrolles  had  done  this  before  me.  He  had  greeted 
you  with  all  his  eloquence  ;  he  commended  you,  and  he 
loved  you.  You  honor  his  memory,  and  you  do  well. 
It  is  the  great  brotherhood  of  mankind  asserting  itself ; 
it  is  the  meeting  of  two  worlds  around  the  bier  of  an 
exile ;  it  is  Brazil  shaking  hands  with  France  across  the 
ocean. 

Accept  my  thanks !  Ribeyrolles,  in  fact,  belongs  to 
you  as  he  does  to  us ;  such  men  are  common  property  ; 
even  their  exile  has  the  merit  of  bringing  into  relief 
this  universal  brotherhood ;  and  when  despots  rob  them 


TO  M.  CHENAY.  161 

of  their  native  land,  it  is  a  grand  thing  that  peoples 
should  give  them  a  tomb. 

I  greet  you  and  I  am  your  brother. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

X  CHARLES  RLBEYROLLES. 

II  accepta  1'exil  ;  il  aima  les  souffrances  ; 
Intre'pide,  il  voulut  toutes  les  delivrances  ; 
II  servit  tons  les  droits  par  toutes  les  vertus  ; 
Car  I'ide'e  est  un  glaive  et  1'ame  est  une  force, 

Et  la  plume  de  Wilberforce 
Sort  du  meme  fourreau  que  le  fer  de  Brutus. 

XLIII. 

To  M.  CHENAY. 
HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  21st  January,  1861. 

DEAR  MONSIEUR  CHENAY,  —  You  expressed  a  wish 
to  engrave  my  drawing  of  John  Brown,1  and  now  you 
desire  to  publish  it ;  I  consent,  and  I  add  that  I  think  it 
desirable. 

John  Brown  is  a  hero  and  a  martyr.  His  death  was 
a  crime.  His  gibbet  is  a  cross.  You  remember  that  I 
wrote  at  the  foot  of  the  drawing :  Pro  Christo,  sicut 
Christus. 

When  in  December,  1859,  I  predicted  to  America 
with  deep  sorrow  the  rupture  of  the  Union  as  a  conse- 
quence of  the  murder  of  John  Brown,  I  did  not  think 
that  the  event  would  follow  so  quickly  on  my  words. 
At  the  present  moment  all  that  was  in  John  Brown's 
scaffold  is  issuing  from  it ;  the  latent  fatalities  of  a 
year  ago  are  now  visible,  and  from  henceforth  the  rup- 

1  Victor  Hugo  had  made  a  large  and  splendid  drawing  represent- 
ing John  Brown  on  the  gallows,  with  the  inscription,  Pro  Christo,  sicut 
Christus. 

VOL.  n.  11 


162  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

ture  of  the  American  Union,  a  great  calamity,  is  to  be 
dreaded ;  but  the  abolition  of  slavery,  an  immense  step 
in  advance,  to  be  hoped  for. 

Let  us  then  once  more  call  the  attention  of  all  to  the 
gibbet  of  Charlestown,  as  a  lesson,  and  as  the  point  of 
departure  of  these  grave  events. 

My  drawing,  which  your  fine  talent  has  reproduced 
with  such  striking  fidelity,  has  no  value  but  in  its  name 
of  John  Brown,  a  name  which  must  be  continually 
repeated,  —  to  the  republicans  of  America,  to  remind 
them  of  their  duty,  to  the  slaves,  to  summon  them  to 
freedom. 

XLIV. 

To  M.  CR£MIEUX. 

BBAINE-L' ALLEN,  28th  May,  1861. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  received  your  letter  of  the 
25th  of  March  ;  but  it  did  not  reach  me  till  to-day,  the 
28th  of  May.  On  the  25th  of  March,  I  left  Guernsey, 
being  unwell  and  in  search  of  change  of  air ;  for  the 
last  two  months  I  have  been  moving  from  one  town  to 
another,  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  convalescence,  and  it 
is  only  to-day  that  I  had  the  joy  of  reading  your  kind 
and  charming  letter.  It  touches  me  deeply.  You  are 
not  only  a  man  of  eloquence  and  power,  you  are  a  good 
man.  Vir  bonus  .  .  .  and  all  the  rest  of  the  defini- 
tion. I  can  hardly  express  to  you  how  dear  you  are  to 
me,  how  fond  we  all  are  of  you.  I,  your  client,  and 
my  son  Charles,  your  other  client,  are  always  talking 
of  you.  No  one  is  more  eloquent  than  you ;  no  one 
has  a  loftier  soul.  This  is  natural,  however ;  it  is  the 
soul  which  inspires  the  voice. 

I  am  quite  well  again.     I  shall  return  to  my  rock 


TO  THE  ITALIAN  MANAGING  COMMITTEE.       163 

very  soon.  If  ever  some  good  star  were  to  bring  you 
there,  oh,  my  dear  visitor,  how  glad  I  should  be  to  re- 
ceive you  in  my  poor  abode  !  It  would  be  a  red-letter 
day  for  all  the  refugees,  and  you  would  gladden  our 
exile  as  you  console  the  fatherland. 

Lay  at  your  daughter's  feet  the  autograph  she  is  good 
enough  to  ask  for.  I  was  a  long  time  thinking  over  a 
phrase  to  write  at  the  foot  of  this  portrait,  which  should 
express  everything  of  which  Mademoiselle  Cremieux  is 
entitled  to  be  proud,  and  at  last  I  found  it.  Here 
it  is  :  — 

To  the  daughter  of  Cremieux. 

I  press  your  hand,  my  noble  and  generous  friend. 

XLV. 

To  MESSRS.  GIUSEPPE  PALMERI,  LUIGI  PORTA,  SAVERIO  FRISCIA, 
Members  of  the  Italian  Managing  Committee,  at  Palermo. 

BRUSSELS,  21st  June,  1861. 

GENTLEMEN,  —  In  your  eloquent  letter,  which  touches 
me  deeply,  you  inform  me  that  my  name  has  just  been 
inscribed  on  the  list  of  the  Association  for  Italian  Unity 
by  the  spontaneous  and  unanimous  decision  of  the 
whole  society. 

I  accept  with  pleasure  the  place  which  you  offer  me 
among  you.  As  far  as  my  duty  to  democracy  will 
allow  I  shall  warmly  second  your  efforts.  You  thank 
me  in  a  grand  fashion  for  the  little  I  have  done  ;  such 
thanks  are  a  reward. 

Members  of  the  Italian  Committee,  your  undertaking 
is  a  sacred  one.  The  restoration  of  a  great  people  is 
more  than  a  restoration,  it  is  a  resurrection.  All  the 
forces  of  progress  converge  on  the  aim  which  you  pur- 


164  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

sue,  and  assist  you.  In  founding  Italy,  you  are  not 
laboring  solely  for  your  own  country,  but  for  the  world. 
United  Italy  is  necessary  to  civilization. 

The  great  Europe  of  the  future  is  already  beginning 
to  take  shape.  The  tendency  of  peoples  is  to  group 
themselves  in  races,  as  a  preliminary  to  grouping  them- 
selves in  continents.  These  are  the  two  phases  of  civ- 
ilization which  are  logically  linked  together,  the  one 
leading  up  to  the  other :  first  national  unity,  then 
continental  union.  These  two  steps  in  advance  will  be 
the  achievement  of  the  nineteenth  century ;  it  has 
already  nearly  accomplished  the  first,  it  will  not  come 
to  a  close  without  having  accomplished  the  second. 

A  time  will  come  when  frontiers  will  cease  to  exist. 
All  wars  will  disappear  in  the  fraternity  of  races.  That 
will  be  the  great  day  of  the  human  fatherland. 

Pending  the  realization  of  these  sublime  changes  of 
the  future,  continue,  persevere,  advance;  let  all  men  of 
intelligence  and  feeling  do  the  duty  of  the  moment ; 
let  each  nation  demand  its  unity,  the  necessary  contri- 
bution of  each  people  to  the  great  federal  compact  of 
the  future  ;  let  a  lofty  political  philosophy  inspire  and 
transform  diplomacy  itself ;  let  whoever  mutilates  or 
diminishes  a  people  be  outlawed  by  humanity.  Let  us 
all  be  fellow-countrymen  in  progress,  and  let  us  all  re- 
peat, from  the  European  as  well  as  from  the  Italian 
point  of  view :  Italy  must  have  Venice  and  Rome,  for 
without  Venice  and  Rome  there  can  be  no  Italy,  and 
without  Italy  there  can  be  no  Europe. 


TO  EMILE  DE  GIRARDIN.  165 


XLVI.      n 

To  EMILE  DE  GIRARDIN. 

LONDON,  16^  August,  [1861]. 

I  am  in  London,  staying  at  an  inn  ;  a  newspaper  has 
just  been  brought  me,  the  Presse  ;  I  find  in  it  your 
name,  which  I  am  always  looking  for,  and  my  name, 
which  you  are  fond  of  writing.  You  are  right  ;  if  we 
could  have  a  free  discussion  in  public,  we  should  soon 
agree  ;  you  are  a  follower  of  the  radical  and  I  of  the 
ideal.  Well,  the  root  is  the  idea. 

But  it  is  no  use  your  being  Girardin  and  Voltaire 
being  Voltaire  ;  both  Voltaire  and  Girardin  are  obliged 
to  make  concessions,  and  must  always,  to  obtain  permis- 
sion to  speak,  be  scattering  the  word  king  here  and 
there  in  their  most  logical  and  most  unanswerable  argu- 
ments, as  Spinoza  scatters  the  word  Christianity.  Well, 
in  philosophical  radicalism  the  word  Christianity  is 
only  a  drop  ;  in  political  radicalism  the  word  king  is 
only  a  drop  ;  but  a  drop  of  arsenic,  mixed  with  the 
best  beverage  in  the  world,  makes  it  difficult  to  digest. 

When  the  day  comes  for  you  to  be  free,  your  grand 
logic  will  burst  forth  in  all  its  fullness,  and  will  bring 
out  the  accuracy  of  your  profound  mind.  On  that  day 
we  shall  evidently,  I  imagine,  be  agreed  on  almost  all 
points.  In  the  mean  while,  you  are  obliged  to  accept 
the  men  of  the  Empire,  and  the  Empire  within  certain 
limits,  just  as  Orpheus  accepts  Cerberus  in  order  to  pass 
him  ;  and  you  throw  them  your  noble  style  as  a  sop. 
They  will  let  you  pass,  but  you  will  return  alone,  and 
they  will  not  let  you  bring  back  the  Eurydice  called 
Liberty.  A  serpent  has  stung  her  in  the  heel,  and  a 
demon  guards  her  in  the  sepulchre. 


166  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

All  the  same,  I  am  glad  to  have  a  talk  with  you. 
You  are  in  my  eyes  one  of  the  great  servants  of  pro- 
gress, of  truth,  of  logic,  and  of  liberty  ;  our  differences 
are  only  reasons  why  we  should  try  to  understand  each 
other  thoroughly. 

XLVII. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 
HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  18th  February,  1862. 

Where  are  you  ?  Where  will  this  letter  find  you  ? 
At  Nohant  or  in  Paris  ?  Do  you  sometimes  think  of 
a  distant  friend  whom  you  have  never  seen,  and  who  is 
sincerely  and  deeply  attached  to  you  ?  All  the  good, 
great,  and  beautiful  things  that  you  have  done  for  all 
in  this  age  —  you,  a  woman,  with  your  tenderness, 
you,  a  sage,  with  your  love  —  make  me  one  of  your 
debtors,  and  amid  the  immensities  which  surround  me, 
ocean,  sky,  stars,  nature,  humanity,  storms,  revolutions, 
I  call  to  you  and  I  think  of  you,  and  my  spirit  says  to 
yours :  Come. 

I  am  overwhelmed  with  work  and  business,  and  in 
this  predicament,  with  which  you  are  familiar,  when 
one  has  not  a  moment  to  one's  self,  a  letter  to  write 
seems  an  aggravation  ;  but  it  is  a  rest  to  write  to  you. 

Your  glory  is  one  of  those  which  shine  with  mild 
rays.  The  contemplation  of  a  light  such  as  yours  is 
a  joy  to  the  soul. 

When  shall  we  be  able  to  converse,  and  see  each 
other,  and  tell  each  other  all  that  we  have  to  say? 
Alas  !  France  seems  to  be  receding  from  me ;  I  only 
wish  Guernsey  could  move  nearer  to  you. 

It  seems  to  me  that,  if  you  liked,  you  are  prophet 
enough  to  make  the  mountain  come  to  you. 


TO  GEORGE  SAND.  167 

I  kiss  your  hand,  and  I  thank  it  and  congratulate  it 
on  having  written  so  many  beautiful  works. 

XLVIII. 
To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  6$  May,  [1862]. 

Your  letter  has  made  me  sad.  Imagine  what  a  pain- 
ful surprise  it  was  to  me.  I  had  fancied  that  this 
book 1  would  bring  us  still  nearer  to  each  other,  and 
now  I  find  that  it  estranges  us,  that  it  almost  disunites 
us.  I  should  be  angry  with  the  book  if  I  were  not 
convinced  of  its  perfect  sincerity. 

Evidently  one  of  us  is  wrong.  Is  it  you  ?  Is  it  I  ? 
As  your  outspokenness  encourages  mine,  allow  me  to 
tell  you  that  I  think  it  is  you. 

I  had  dreamed  that  you,  the  great  George  Sand, 
would  understand  my  heart  as  I  understand  yours.  At 
any  rate,  living  a  solitary  life,  face  to  face  with  my  in- 
tention and  alone  with  my  conscience,  I  am  sure,  if  not 
of  my  achievement,  at  all  events  of  my  purpose  ;  I  am 
sure  of  my  heart,  which  is  the  slave  of  justice,  of  the 
ideal,  of  reason,  of  all  that  is  great,  generous,  beautiful, 
and  true,  of  yourself. 

XLIX. 

To  THE  SAME. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  18th  May,  [1862]. 

It  is  nice  to  be  wounded  by  goddesses  when  one  is 
healed  by  them.  Thank  you  for  your  two  exquisite 
and  kind  letters.  Those  who  cannot  be  charming  are 

1  The  first  part  of  Les  Miserdbles.    George  Sand  had  given  a  qualified 
approval  only  to  the  saintly  Abbe*  Myriel. 


168  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

not  great,  and  you  prove  this,  for  you  are  charming. 
Your  greatness  converts  itself  at  will  into  grace,  and 
it  is  in  this  way  that  it  shows  itself.  .  .  .  You  who  have 
strength,  possess  charm  as  well. 

Do  not  be  afraid  of  my  becoming  too  much  of  a 
Christian.  I  believe  in  Christ  as  I  do  in  Socrates,  and 
in  God  more  than  in  myself.  I  am  more  certain  of 
the  existence  of  God  than  of  my  own.  If  you  go  on 
with  the  book,  read  the  part  called  Parenthese;  your 
anxiety  about  this  imaginary  apprehension  of  yours 
will  be  dispelled. 

Let  us  change  the  subject  to  you.  Now  you  are 
happy  into  the  bargain.  Your  son,  who  has  something 
of  your  genius,  is  going  to  be  married.  Be  successful 
in  Paris  and  happy  at  Nohant.  Live  in  an  atmosphere 
of  glory;  that  is  a  fitting  lot  for  you.  I  kiss  your 
hands,  and  I  thank  you  for  your  adorable  letters.  I 
perceive  that  I  am  in  love  with  you.  Luckily  I  am  an 
old  man  ! 

L. 

To  LAMARTINE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  24th  June,  lS6$. 

MY  ILLUSTRIOUS  FRIEND,  —  If  to  be  an  idealist  is 
to  be  a  radical,  then  I  am  one.  Yes,  from  every  point 
of  view,  I  understand,  I  desire,  and  I  hail  improve- 
ment ;  le  mieuXy  though  condemned  in  the  proverb,  is 
not  the  ennemi  du  bien,  for  that  would  be  equivalent 
to  saying  that  it  is  the  friend  of  evil.  Yes,  a  society 
which  tolerates  misery,  a  religion  which  admits  hell, 
a  humanity  which  admits  war,  appear  to  me  to  be  a 
society,  a  religion,  and  a  humanity  of  a  lower  order ; 
and  it  is  towards  the  society,  the  humanity,  and  the 


TO  LAMARTINE.  169 

religion  of  a  higher  world  that  I  aspire  :  society  with- 
out kings,  humanity  without  frontiers,  religion  without 
sacred  books.  Yes,  I  combat  the  priest  who  sells  lies 
and  the  judge  who  administers  injustice.  To  univer- 
salize property  (which  is  the  reverse  of  abolishing  it) 
by  getting  rid  of  parasitism,  i.  e.,  to  achieve  the  follow- 
ing object,  every  man  an  owner_ol_ property  and  no 
man  master,  that  is  my  idea  of  true  social  and  political 
economy.  To  sum  up,  as  far  as  a  man  can  will  it,  I 
would  destroy  human  fatality,  condemn  slavery,  ban- 
ish misery,  enlighten  ignorance,  cure  disease,  illumine 
darkness,  and  detest  hatred. 

These  are  my  principles,  and  that  is  why  I  wrote  Les 
Miser  ables. 

*^In  my  view  Les  Miserdbles  is  simply  a  book  with 
fraternity  for  its  starting-point  and  progress  for  its 
goal. 

Now  judge  me.  Literary  disputes  between  persons 
who  have  received  a  literary  education  are  ridiculous, 
but  political  and  social  discussion  between  poets,  that 
is  to  say  between  philosophers,  is  serious  and  fruitful. 
Evidently  your  aims  are  the  same  as  mine,  to  a  great 
extent  at  least ;  only  perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  the 
transition  made  still  more  gentle.  For  my  part,  while 
putting  aside  all  idea  of  violence  and  reprisals,  I  con- 
fess that,  seeing  so  much  suffering,  I  am  in  favor  of 
the  shortest  way. 

Dear  Lamartine,  long  ago,  in  1820,  the  first  lispings 
of  my  youthful  muse  were  a  cry  of  enthusiasm  at  the 
dazzling  rise  of  your  genius  on  the  world.  Those  lines 
are  in  my  published  works  and  I  love  them  ;  they  are 
there  with  many  others  which  glorify  your  splendid 


170  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

gifts.  To-day  you  think  it  is  your  turn  to  speak  of  me, 
and  I  am  proud  of  it.  We  have  loved  each  other  for 
forty  years,  and  we  are  still  alive ;  you  would  not  wish 
to  spoil  this  past  or  the  future,  I  am  sure.  Do  what 
you  will  with  my  book  and  with  me.  Nothing  but 
light  can  come  from  your  hands. 

Your  old  friend,  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LI. 
To  OCTAVE  LACKOIX. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  30$  June,  1862. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  readily  answer  your  letter,  for  I 
recognize  in  you  a  valiant  combatant  for  truth  and 
right,  and  I  greet  a  noble  mind. 

After  having,  like  you,  fought  against  the  Second  of 
December,  I  was  banished  from  France.  I  wrote  Napo- 
leon le  Petit  at  Brussels ;  I  had  to  leave  Belgium.  I 
went  to  Jersey,  and  there  fought  for  three  years  against 
the  common  enemy ;  the  English  government  was  sub- 
jected to  the  same  pressure  as  the  Belgian  government, 
and  I  had  to  leave  Jersey.  I  have  been  in  Guernsey  for 
seven  years.  I  have  bought  a  house  here,  which  gives 
me  the  right  of  citizenship  and  protects  my  person ;  here 
I  am  safe  from  a  fourth  expulsion.  However,  I  am 
bound  to  say  that  Jersey  two  years  ago,  and  Belgium 
a  year  ago,  spontaneously  reopened  their  doors  to  me. 

I  live  near  the  sea  in  a  house  built  sixty  years  ago 
by  an  English  privateer  and  called  Hauteville  House. 
I,  a  representative  of  the  people  and  an  exiled  soldier 
of  the  French  Republic,  pay  droit  de  poulage  every 
year  to  the  Queen  of  England,  sovereign  lady  of  the 
Channel  Islands,  as  Duchess  of  Normandy  and  my 


1 71 

.  -L  I  A 

feudal  suzerain.  This  is  one  of  the  curious  results  of 
exile. 

I  live  a  retired  life  here,  with  my  wife,  my  daughter, 
and  my  two  sons,  Charles  and  Francois.  A  few  exiles 
have  joined  me,  and  we  make  a  family  party.  Every 
Tuesday  I  give  a  dinner  to  fifteen  little  children,  chosen 
from  among  the  most  poverty-stricken  of  the  island, 
and  my  family  and  I  wait  on  them ;  I  try  by  this 
means  to  give  this  feudal  country  an  idea  of  equality 
and  fraternity.  Every  now  and  then  a  friend  crosses 
the  sea  and  pays  me  a  visit.  These  are  our  gala-days. 
I  have  some  dogs,  some  birds,  some  flowers.  I  hope 
next  year  to  have  a  small  carriage  and  a  horse.  My 
pecuniary  circumstances,  which  had  been  brought  to  a 
very  low  ebb  by  the  coup  d'etat,  have  been  somewhat 
improved  by  my  book  Les  Miserables.  I  get  up  early, 
I  go  to  bed  early,  I  work  all  day,  I  walk  by  the  sea,  I 
have  a  sort  of  natural  armchair  in  a  rock  for  writing  at 
a  beautiful  spot  called  Firmain  Bay;  I  do  not  read  the 
seven  hundred  and  forty  articles  published  against  me 
during  the  last  three  months  (and  counted  by  my  pub- 
lishers) in  the  Catholic  newspapers  of  Belgium,  Italy, 
Austria,  and  Spain.  I  am  very  fond  of  the  worthy, 
hard-working  little  people  among  whom  I  live,  and  I 
think  they  are  rather  fond  of  me,  too.  I  do  not  smoke, 
I  eat  roast  beef  like  an  Englishman,  and  I  drink  beer 
like  a  German ;  which  does  not  prevent  the  Espana,  a 
clerical  newspaper  of  Madrid,  from  asserting  that  Vic- 
tor Hugo  does  not  exist,  and  that  the  real  author  of 
Les  Miser ables  is  called  Satan. 

Here,  dear  sir,  you  have  nearly  all  the  details  for 
which  you  ask  me.  Allow  me  to  complete  them  by  a 
cordial  shake  of  the  hand. 


172  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LII. 

To  PAUL  DE  SAINT-VICTOR. 

2d  October,  1862. 

I  have  just  read  your  first  article  on  Les  Miserables. 
I  thank  you.  For  the  last  fourteen  years,  you  have 
been  writing,  page  by  page  and  day  by  day,  one  of  the 
great  books  of  the  age,  the  history  of  contemporary 
art  confronted  with  the  ideal.  This  serene  comparison 
is  the  triumph  of  your  luminous  mind.  Thought,  poe- 
try, philosophy,  painting,  and  sculpture,  you  light  up 
all  with  the  splendid  reflection  of  that  vision  of  the 
beautiful  which  is  within  you. 

And  the  charm  of  your  soul  is  that  it  is  a  heart.  In 
your  artistic  and  philosophic  teaching  one  feels  the  pro- 
found emotion  of  justice  and  of  truth.  With  JEschy- 
lus  you  are  Greek,  with  Dante  you  are  Italian,  and, 
above  all,  you  are  human.  This  makes  you  the  pro- 
found thinker  and  the  great  writer  whom  I  admire. 

You  know  that  not  a  line  of  yours  escapes  me.  I 
read  your  works  with  the  tender  assiduity  of  a  kindred 
spirit.  At  each  stroke  you  hit  the  mark,  and  for  many 
a  year  I  have  been  following  you  with  my  eyes,  and 
admiring  you  as  one  shaft  after  another  from  your 
inexhaustible  quiver  flies  into  the  targets  of  the  true 
and  the  beautiful. 

To-day  I  am  proud  of  the  work  which  you  link  with 
mine.  You  inlay  my  wall  with  marble  bas-reliefs. 
After  reading  the  admirable  article,  in  which  every 
word  has  the  profundity  of  the  idea  and  the  transpar- 
ency of  truth,  I  ought  to  have  controlled  my  feelings, 
and  held  my  peace  until  the  series  was  finished  and  I 


TO  MICHELET.  173 

could  give  you  my  impression  of  it  as  a  whole.  In 
future  I  will  do  so,  but  I  was  unable  to  do  it  on  this 
occasion. 

You  forgive  me,  do  you  not  ? 

Dear  and  great  thinker,  I  press  your  hand. 

LIII. 

To  MICHELET. 
HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  2d  December,  1862. 

I  finished  reading  La  Sorciere  this  morning,  dear 
and  great  philosopher.  I  thank  you  for  having  written 
this  fine  work.  In  it  you  have  depicted  truth  in  all  its 
aspects,  of  which,  perhaps,  the  grandest  is  pity.  You 
are  not  satisfied  with  convincing,  you  must  touch  your 
readers.  This  book  is  one  of  your  great  triumphs. 

I  love  everything  in  it :  the  lifelike  style,  which 
suffers  with  the  martyr ;  the  thought,  which  resembles 
an  expansion  of  the  soul  in  the  infinite ;  the  large 
heart,  the  knowledge  blended  with  emotion  ;  the  de- 
scription, or  rather  the  intuition  of  nature,  from  which 
issues  the  imposing  figure  of  a  sort  of  demon-god,  who 
draws  smiles  and  tears. 

The  hermit  thanks  you  for  having  sent  him  this 
tender,  deep,  and  poignant  book.  He  is  a  melancholy 
dreamer,  often  sadly  overwhelmed  by  the  contemplation 
and  the  haunting  thought  of  all  the  suffering  in  the 
world ;  but  when  his  hand  feels  the  pressure  of  yours, 
a  ray  of  light  seems  to  pass  before  his  eyes. 


174  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LIV. 

To  EMILE  DE  GIRARDIN. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  2d  April,  1863. 

The  noise  made  by  you  people  who  are  still  in  the 
world  reaches  my  solitude  late,  but  it  does  reach  it 
eventually. 

I  learn  that  at  a  banquet  of  the  Presse  you  had  the 
splendid  courage  to  evoke  the  absent,  and  that,  in  a 
toast  of  the  noblest  eloquence,  you  associated  my  name 
with  that  of  liberty. 

Liberty  will  not  return  under  the  present  regime.  It 
is  afraid  of  her,  and  it  is  right ;  liberty  has  a  good 
memory,  and  no  cohabitation  is  possible  between  her 
and  this  government,  born  of  sudden  crime,  the  coup 
d'etat,  and  upheld  by  a  continuous  crime,  despotism. 
I  do  not  share  your  hopes,  and  on  the  other  hand  my 
hopes  might  seem  illusions  to  you  ;  but  we  are  agreed, 
you  and  I,  in  our  devotion  to  progress  and  to  that  irre- 
ducible liberty,  the  vanquished  of  to-day,  the  victor  of 
to-morrow. 

LV. 

To  THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE  DEMOCRATIC  CLUB  OF  PISA. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  3d  April,  1863. 

MY  ITALIAN  BROTHERS,  —  Your  eloquent  and  noble 
letter  goes  to  my  heart.  I  accept  with  alacrity  the 
place  which  you  offer  me  among  you.  Italy  united 
and  free  is  my  wish,  as  it  is  yours.  To  liberate  Italy  is 
to  add  to  civilization. 

This  very  day,  Friday  the  3d  of  April,  it  is  eighteen 
hundred  and  sixty-three  years  since  Jesus  Christ  died 
upon  the  Cross.  He  did  not  die  at  Home.  He  died 


TO  LAMARTINE.  175 

at  Jerusalem.  It  would  seem  that  the  Popes  have  for- 
gotten this,  since  they  have  seated  themselves  on  the 
summit  of  the  Capitol  without  seeing  that  their  place 
is  at  the  foot  of  Calvary.  Christianity  is  less  august 
crowned  in  the  Vatican  than  kneeling  at  Golgotha. 
A  triple  crown  of  earthly  gratification  and  pride  is  a 
strange  substitute  for  the  crown  of  thorns. 

Since  the  Popes  harden  their  hearts,  since  they  de- 
spise Jerusalem,  since  they  usurp  Rome,  Italy  too  will 
harden  her  heart.  Italy  will  resume  possession  of 
Rome,  as  a  matter  of  right  and  duty.  She  will  resume 
possession  of  Rome,  as  she  will  resume  possession  of 
Venice.  The  Pope,  like  the  CaBsar,  is  a  foreign  sov- 
ereign. 

LVI. 

To  IjAMABTINE.1 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  23d  May,  1863. 

DEAR  LAMARTINE,  —  A  great  blow  has  befallen  you ; 
I  must  bring  my  heart  close  to  yours.  I  venerated  her 
whom  you  loved. 

Your  lofty  spirit  sees  beyond  the  horizon  ;  you  have 
a  distinct  vision  of  the  future  life.  There  is  no  need 
to  say  "  hope "  to  you.  You  are  one  of  those  who 
know. 

She  is  still  your  companion ;  invisible,  but  present. 
You  have  lost  the  wife,  but  not  the  soul.  Dear  friend, 
let  us  live  in  the  dead. 

1  On  the  death  of  his  wife. 


176  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LVII. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

TROVES,  26^  August,  1863. 

Forgive  this  dreadful  hotel  paper.  I  am  traveling, 
and  I  write  to  you  on  the  first  table  that  comes  handy. 
I  am  at  Treves,  surrounded  by  all  kinds  of  beautiful 
things,  and  how  is  it  possible  not  to  think  of  you  ?  I 
have  read  the  noble,  charming,  and  cordial  article  which 
you  have  written  on  Mme.  Victor  Hugo's  book.1  It 
seems  to  me  that  henceforth  the  book  is  by  you  both ; 
you  countersign  it,  you  magnify  it  by  your  glory. 
That  is  an  illusion  of  the  heart.  Allow  me  to  indulge 
in  it. 

You  do  not  know  how  much  I  admire  you.  I  take 
every  opportunity  of  telling  you  so,  and  I  thank  you 
for  giving  me  this  one.  There  was,  and  perhaps  there 
still  is,  something  or  other  between  you  and  me.  But 
it  has  disappeared,  or  will  disappear.  The  main  thing 
for  me  is  that  I  love  you  and  understand  you.  You 
have  a  unique  and  exalted  glory.  You  are  the  great 
woman  of  your  age. 

LVIII. 

To  THE  MINISTER  OF  THE  REPUBLIC  OF  COLOMBIA.2 

HAUTE  VILLE  HOUSE,  12th  October,  1863. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  your  communication 
touches  me.  I  have  devoted  my  life  to  progress,  and 
the  starting-point  of  progress  in  the  world  is  the  invio- 
lability of  human  life.  The  corollaries  of  this  principle 
are  the  end  of  war  and  the  abolition  of  the  scaffold. 

1  Victor  Hugo  raconte  par  un  temoin  de  sa  vie. 

a  He  had  sent  Victor  Hugo  a  copy  of  the  Constitution  of  Colombia. 


GENERAL  GARIBALDI  TO  VICTOR  HUGO.         177 

The  end  of  war  and  the  abolition  of  the  scaffold 
mean  the  suppression  of  the  sword.  The  sword  sup- 
pressed, despotism  will  vanish.  It  loses  both  its  object 
and  its  means  of  existence. 

You  send  me,  on  behalf  of  your  free  republic,  a 
copy  of  your  constitution.  Your  constitution  abolishes 
capital  punishment,  and  you  are  good  enough  to  credit 
me  with  a  share  in  this  splendid  reform.  I  thank  the 
Republic  of  the  United  States  of  Colombia  with  deep 
emotion.  In  abolishing  capital  punishment  it  sets  an 
admirable  example.  It  takes  two  steps,  the  one  in  the 
direction  of  happiness,  the  other  in  the  direction  of 
glory.  The  high-road  lies  open.  Let  America  advance, 
Europe  will  follow  her. 

Transmit,  dear  sir,  my  acknowledgments  to  your 
noble  and  free  fellow-citizens,  and  receive  the  assurance 
of  my  high  consideration. 

LIX. 

GENERAL  GARIBALDI  to  VICTOR  HUGO,  at  Hauteville  House. 

CAPRERA,  25th  November,  1863. 

DEAR  VICTOR  HUGO,  —  I  was  sure  of  your  coopera- 
tion, you  must  be  sure  of  my  gratitude. 

What  you  say  is  right,  and  I  should  like  to  have  the 
million  of  souls  which  would  enable  me  to  dispense  with 
the  million  of  guns ;  I  should  like  to  see  the  universal 
agreement  which  would  make  war  useless.  Like  you, 
I  await  with  confidence  the  regeneration  of  peoples. 
But  to  realize  truth  without  suffering,  and  to  tread 
the  triumphal  path  of  justice  without  besprinkling  it 
with  human  blood,  is  an  ideal  which  has  hitherto  been 
sought  in  vain. 

VOL.  U.  12 


178 


THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


It  is  for  you,  who  are  the  torch-bearer,  to  point  out 
a  less  cruel  way ;  it  is  for  us  to  follow  you. 

Your  friend  for  life, 

GARIBALDI. 


LX. 

To  GENERAL  GARIBALDI,  at  Caprera. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  20th  December,  1863. 

DEAR  GARIBALDI,  —  We  both  of  us  have  faith,  and 
our  faith  is  identical. 

The  regeneration  of  the  nations  is  infallible.  For 
my  part,  I  have  a  profound  conviction  that,  when  the 
time  has  come,  not  much  blood  will  be  shed.  The  Eu- 
rope of  the  peoples  fara  da  se.  Revolutions,  even  the 
most  successful  and  the  most  necessary  ones,  bring 
their  responsibility,  and  you,  like  me,  are  one  of  those 
who  dread  their  having  to  bear  the  tremendous  weight 
of  one  drop  of  blood  too  much.  No  bloodshed  at  all 
would  be  the  ideal ;  and  why  not  the  ideal  ?  When 
the  ideal  is  reached  in  man,  and  you  alone  are  sufficient 
to  prove  that  this  is  possible,  why  should  it  not  be 
reached  in  things  ? 

Hatred  decreases  in  proportion  as  the  moral  standard 
rises.  Let  us  endeavor,  then,  to  raise  that  standard. 
Emancipation  by  means  of  thought,  revolution  through 
civilization,  that  is  our  aim,  yours  as  well  as  mine. 
And  when  the  last  fight  has  to  be  fought,  there  need 
be  no  anxiety,  it  will  be  beautiful,  generous,  and  great ; 
it  will  be  as  gentle  as  a  fight  possibly  can  be.  The 
problem  is  in  a  way  solved  by  your  presence. 

Dear  friend,  I  press  your  illustrious  hand. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 


TO  LOUIS  BLANC.  179 

LXI. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  28$  March,  1864. 

I  hear  that  you  have  returned  to  Nohant.  That  is 
where  my  applause  likes  to  go  in  search  of  you.  It  is 
natural  that  one  solitude  should  write  to  another.  In 
your  splendid  triumph  in  Paris  my  voice  would  have 
been  nothing ;  it  is  always  of  very  little  account  in  the 
blaze  of  fame  which  surrounds  you ;  but  it  seems  to  me 
that  down  in  the  country,  in  the  midst  of  your  fields 
and  your  trees,  you  will  hear  it  better. 

My  pleasures  are  but  few ;  your  success  is  one  of 
them,  and  one  of  the  best.  You  give  our  age  an  op- 
portunity for  being  just.  I  thank  you  for  being  great 
and  I  thank  you  for  being  admired.  In  a  gloomy 
period  such  as  ours,  your  glory  is  a  consolation. 

LXII. 

To  Louis  BLANC. 

HAUTEVTLLE  HOUSE,  31st  March,  1864. 

MY  DEAR  Louis  BLANC,  —  In  the  book  which  I  am 
about  to  publish,1  and  in  which  I  refer  incidentally, 
and  in  high  terms,  to  the  committee,2  I  express  myself 
against  the  idea  of  a  subscription.  A  subscription  is 
the  ordinary  accompaniment  of  this  sort  of  manifes- 
tation. But  for  Shakespeare  we  want  more  than  the 
ordinary.  I  think  that  the  least  which  should  be  done 
for  him  is  the  vote  of  a  great  public  monument  by  Act 
of  Parliament. 

1  William  Shakespeare. 

2  The  committee  formed  in  England  for  erecting  a  statue  to  Shake- 
speare. 


180  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

This,  in  my  judgment,  is  the  direction  which  the  ac- 
tion of  the  committee  should  take.  Having  expressed 
this  opinion,  which  is  about  to  be  published,  can  I  take 
part  in  the  subscription  ?  Can  I  write  one  thing  and 
do  another  ? 

If  it  were  a  case  which  concerned  the  conscience,  the 
immediate  answer  would  be  No.  The  present  case 
admits  of  less  strictness.  Nevertheless,  would  there 
not  be  some  inconsistency  ?  You  are  on  the  spot,  you 
have  a  near  view  of  things ;  you  combine  ability  with 
discrimination ;  allow  me  to  appeal  to  you. 

If  you  think  that  my  book  does  not  prevent  me  from 
subscribing,  you  can  at  once  put  me  down  for  five 
pounds,  and  my  son  Francois  Victor  also  for  five 
pounds.  If  you  think  there  is  any  drawback  in  my 
appearing  to  change  my  mind,  and  that  I  ought  to 
hold  aloof,  I  will  do  so. 

My  friendship  asks  permission  to  abide  by  the  deci- 
sion of  yours. 

LXIII. 
To  GENERAL  GARIBALDI.1 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  24$  April,  1864. 

I  did  not  ask  you  to  come,  because  you  would  have 
come,  and,  however  great  might  have  been  my  joy  at 
welcoming  you  —  you,  the  real  hero  !  —  whatever  hap- 
piness I  might  have  had  in  receiving  you  in  my  house, 
I  knew  that  you  were  better  employed,  and  a  man  has 
not  the  right  to  take  you  from  a  people.  Guernsey 
salutes  Caprera  and  perhaps  will  visit  it  some  day.  In 
the  mean  while,  let  us  love  each  other. 

1  Garibaldi  was  then  in  London  receiving  a  triumphal  reception  from 
the  English. 


TO  CHARLES  HUGO.  181 

The  English  people  presents  a  noble  spectacle  at  this 
moment.  Be  the  guest  of  England  after  having  been 
the  liberator  of  Italy ;  that  is  a  grand  thing.  The 
man  who  is  applauded  is  followed.  Your  triumph  in 
England  is  a  victory  for  liberty.  The  old  Europe  of 
the  Holy  Alliance  is  afraid  of  it. 

The  truth  is  that  these  cheers  are  a  precursor  of  the 
deliverance. 

XIV. 
To  CHARLES  HUGO. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  [1864]. 

Your  letter  does  not  reply  to  the  cry  which  came 
from  the  depths  of  my  heart :  Return  ! 

We  all  miss  you  here,  and  I  more  than  any  one,  as 
you  are  well  aware.  But  I  used  the  word  "  return  " 
in  every  sense.  I  did  not  mean  only  return  by  the  rail- 
way, I  meant  return  by  the  heart ;  do  not  put  an  end 
only  to  the  material  separation  which  has  so  long  parted 
us,  put  an  end  to  the  mental  separation  as  well.  You 
have  caused  me  great  pain,  my  poor  dear  child,  but  I 
forgive  you  because  I  love  you,  and  when  one  loves, 
there  is  one  thing  which  is  impossible,  and  that  is  not 
to  forgive. 

Yes,  my  whole  heart  turns  toward  you  and  longs  for 
yours.  Return  !  return !  Alas  !  while  you  are  suffer- 
ing at  a  distance,  we  are  suffering  too ;  you  know  my 
last  tortures ;  that  does  not  prevent  me  from  being 
torn  asunder  by  yours.  You  see,  I  was  right ;  every- 
thing is  happening  as  I  predicted. 

Ah,  my  God  !  to  think  of  you  so  far  away,  so  sad  ! 
What  a  crowd  of  troubles  all  at  once !  Return  !  re- 
turn !  I  can  say  and  think  nothing  else. 


182  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LXV. 

To  MR.  TENNANT,  Glamorgan,  Wales. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  15th  May,  1864. 

DEAR  MR.  TENNANT,  —  Before  writing  the  book  to 
which  you  draw  my  attention,  you  had  done  the  f ollow- 
ing  things. 

You  had  poor  laborers  around  you.  You  lent  them 
thirty  acres  of  your  best  land.  You  divided  these 
thirty  acres  into  allotments.  Each  allotment  was  large 
enough  for  two  cottages  and  two  good  gardens.  And 
you  said  to  the  poor  people  around  you :  Here  is  land 
for  any  one  who  wants  it.  The  alignment  must  be 
followed,  not  more  than  two  cottages  can  be  built  on 
one  allotment ;  the  rent  of  each  allotment  is  a  guinea 
a  year,  and  I  will  give  you  a  lease  of  a  thousand  years. 
In  a  few  weeks  all  the  allotments  were  taken  up,  hun- 
dreds of  landowners  were  created,  the  scheme  grew  as 
time  went  on,  and  the  result  at  the  present  day  is  a 
small  town  in  Wales,  in  Glamorganshire,  the  town  of 
Skewen.  Every  landowner  in  Skewen  is  a  voter,  i.  e.,  a 
citizen.  You  have  made  more  than  a  town,  you  have 
made  a  city. 

This  is  not  all.  You  dug  at  your  own  expense  a 
canal  thirty  feet  deep  and  nine  miles  long,  navigable 
for  the  largest  vessels,  and  leading  to  the  sea.  The 
seaport  is  called  Port  Tennant. 

A  town  called  into  being,  a  canal  dug,  a  port  built, 
is  pretty  well. 

That,  at  any  rate,  is  a  good  preface. 

I  am  now  reading  your  book,  or  rather  I  am  having 
it  read  to  me,  for  I  do  not  know  English. 


TO  MR.  TENNANT.  183 

I  am  more  radical  than  you,  as  you  are  aware.  You 
deal  tenderly  with  parasitism ;  I  would  sweep  it  away. 
But,  apart  from  this  exception,  I  accept  your  book. 
Many  of  the  expedients  indicated  by  you  are  very  in- 
genious, very  elaborate,  very  efficacious,  and  are  sup- 
ported by  principles.  You  sketch  out,  in  sincere  and 
powerful  language,  a  juster  apportionment  of  social 
burdens,  a  more  normal  distribution  of  territory,  a  more 
loyal  civilization  than  ours,  a  better  Europe.  One  day 
a  better  humanity  will  be  your  ideal.  When  that  day 
comes  you  will  understand  everything ;  you  will  fight 
parasitism  instead  of  regulating  it ;  you  will  adopt,  with 
all  the  energy  of  your  upright  character,  and  as  an 
absolute  and  necessary  starting-point  of  progress,  gra- 
tuitous and  compulsory  education.  Then  you  will  be 
quite  logical,  —  that  is,  on  the  way  to  the  whole  truth. 
Then  your  mind  will  be  complete,  and  your  books  will 
be  irrefutable. 

In  the  mean  while  I  content  myself  with  all  the 
excellent,  just,  true,  and  cordial  things  for  the  people 
in  your  book.  The  people  suffers ;  let  us  love  it.  I 
do  not  say  this  to  you,  the  founder  of  towns;  I  say  it  to 
every  one.  Let  us  love  each  other.  One  day  in  a  sen- 
tence, I  forget  where,  I  had  written  the  word  aimer  ; 
the  compositor  put  aider.  I  accepted  this  misprint. 
Let  us  love  each  other,  and  let  us  help  each  other. 
Let  the  rich  love  and  help  the  poor ;  let  the  poor  love 
and  help  the  rich.  All  have  need  of  all. 


184  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LXVI. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  17th  May,  1864. 

It  is  clear  that  being  so  great,  you  must  be  charming. 
Grace  is  a  form  of  power.  You  prove  this  in  all  your 
works ;  you  prove  it  in  the  exquisite  and  superb  pages 
which  I  have  just  read.  A  friend  has  sent  them  to  me. 
From  henceforth  he  is  more  my  friend. 

I  read  what  you  have  said,  I  read  this  grand  and 
noble  letter ;  it  is  written  about  me,  and  it  seems  to 
be  addressed  to  me.  I  am  deeply  moved.  What  an 
inspiration  of  genius  to  have  worked  nature  into  the 
book ;  to  talk  of  your  lif e  in  the  country  in  the  same 
breath  as  art  and  science ;  to  let  the  rustling  of  leaves 
and  the  twittering  of  birds  be  heard  here  and  there 
amid  the  grand  things  which  you  say.  Dante  dictates 
one  page,  Virgil  another.  It  is  enchantment  combined 
with  strength.  Ah,  Circe  !  ah,  George  Sand  ! 

I  am  very  glad  to  have  written  that  book,  since  it 
pleases  you.  So  you  like  me  a  little  ?  Really  ?  Well, 
that  was  one  of  my  ambitions. 

I  am  very  ambitious.  I  should  like  to  see  you.  That 
again  is  a  dream  of  mine.  What  a  lovely  portrait  you 
have  sent  me  !  What  beauty,  dignity,  and  grave  sweet- 
ness !  Do  not  be  afraid ;  I  am  an  old  fellow,  and  here 
is  my  portrait  which  proves  it.  I  should  like  to  be 
somewhere  in  the  world,  in  a  remote  spot,  —  at  Nohant, 
or  Guernsey,  or  Caprera,  —  with  Garibaldi  and  you ;  we 
should  understand  each  other.  It  seems  to  me  that  we 
are  three  good  specimens  of  this  age.  It  is  a  thousand 
pities  that  I  cannot  go  to  Nohant.  They  tell  me  that 


TO  GEORGE  SAND.  185 

I  am  a  voluntary  exile.  Parbleu !  that  is  what  keeps 
me  here.  If  I  had  only  Cayenne  to  fear,  I  should  go 
to  France  whenever  I  liked. 

Your  letter  converses.  At  the  same  time  it  is  in- 
structive, it  is  musical,  it  is  meditative.  The  whole  face 
of  nature  is  reflected  in  a  line  of  yours  like  the  firma- 
ment in  a  drop  of  dew.  You  have  vistas  into  the 
infinite,  into  life,  mankind,  the  animal  world,  the  soul. 
That  is  great.  When  a  philosopher  is  combined  with 
a  woman,  nothing  can  be  more  admirable.  The  deeper 
aspects  are  treated  as  well  as  the  lighter  ones.  I  am 
one  of  those  who  hold  that  the  heart  should  think. 
You  are  that  heart.  Harmonious  conversation  is  the 
conversation  that  I  like ;  we  should  have  it  together,  I 
fancy;  our  points  of  contact  are  numerous.  Now  I 
am  boasting ;  smile  and  forgive  me. 

You  will  never  grow  old.  You  are  ineffably  gra- 
cious. While  Paris  applauds  and  adores  you,  you  con- 
struct a  little  retreat  in  the  depths  of  the  country  for 
yourself  alone,  and  you  fashion  a  shady  nook  in  your 
glory.  There  are  nests  for  souls  as  well  as  for  birds. 
At  this  moment  your  soul  is  in  its  nest.  Be  as  happy 
as  you  are  great. 

I  close  my  letter  in  order  to  read  yours  again.  I  am 
told  that  there  are  people  who  envy  my  book.  I  do 
not  doubt  it ;  I  am  one  of  them  ;  it  has  traveled  with 
you,  I  am  jealous  of  it. 

I  kneel  before  you  and  I  kiss  your  hands. 


186  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LXVII. 

To  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  16th  June,  [1865]. 

DEAR  DUMAS,  —  I  have  just  read  your  letter  in 
the  Presse.  I  read  it  without  surprise.  Nothing  in 
the  way  of  bravery  astonishes  me  from  you;  and  in  the 
way  of  cowardice  nothing  astonishes  me  from  these 
people.  You  are  the  light ;  the  Empire  is  the  dark- 
ness ;  it  hates  you,  that  is  simple  enough ;  it  wants  to 
extinguish  you,  that  is  not  so  simple.  It  will  have  its 
trouble  for  nothing.  The  shadow  which  it  will  cast 
upon  you  will  only  enhance  your  brightness. 

A  glorious  incident  for  you,  altogether,  and  honora- 
ble for  me,  and  one  on  which  I  congratulate  our  old 
friendship. 

LXVIII. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

BRUSSELS,  1th  October,  1865. 

I  have  been  away  and  traveling  about  all  the  summer. 
I  am  passing  through  Brussels  for  the  marriage  of  my 
son  Charles,  and  am  on  the  way  back  to  my  rock  in 
mid  ocean.  Paul  Meurice  has  been  speaking  to  me  of 
you,  and  I  feel  the  need  of  writing  to  you.  Will  you 
allow  me  to  tell  you  that  I  am  devotedly  attached  to 
you  ?  There  are  moments  in  life  when  sympathy, 
deeper  and  tenderer  than  ever,  mingles  with  the  ad- 
miration inspired  by  a  great  mind.  That  is  the  feeling 
which  I  send  you ;  that  is  the  sort  of  respect  which  I 
lay  at  your  feet. 


TO  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE.  187 

LXIX. 

To  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE. 

CASTLE  GARY,  25th  October,  [1865]. 

You  answer  my  little  familiar  letters  with  splendid 
public  replies.  I  have  just  read  in  the  Presse  your 
grand  prologue  to  the  Chansons  des  Hues  et  des  Bois. 
It  is  the  nightingale  heralding  the  lark. 

Since  you  are  good  enough  to  take  a  liking  to  this 
book  beforehand,  perhaps  that  will  induce  me  to  pub- 
lish it.  Your  wish,  dear  poet,  is  a  command  to  the 
muse. 

Nevertheless,  the  sky  is  sadly  overcast  for  committing 
this  tiny  bark  to  the  winds  and  waves.  I  have  my 
doubts. 

I  saw  in  the  papers  that  I  had  been  away  from 
Guernsey  two  months ;  it  should  have  been  three 
months,  and  I  am  not  back  yet.  I  have  been  wander- 
ing about  here  and  there,  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
French  frontier.  I  have  been  in  the  museums  and 
among  the  mountains.  I  have  often  thought  of  you, 
dear  poet,  in  presence  of  the  grandeur  of  nature  and 
the  eternity  of  art.  Nature  and  art  are  yours ;  you 
have  the  double  lyre. 

Yes,  dear  Banville,  you  are  one  of  the  fountain- 
heads  of  poetry  in  our  time ;  and  that  is  a  glory,  for 
never  has  a  great  epoch  had  a  more  lofty  poetry.  In 
that  firmament,  which  is  often  dark  but  always  pro- 
found, you  will  rank  among  the  stars  of  the  first  magni- 
tude. You  are  an  Aldebaran  of  art. 


188  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LXX. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  28th  November,  1865. 
You  have  just  written  me  an  admirable  letter  in  the 
Avenir  national.  This  article  repays  me  for  my  book.1 
You  are  one  of  the  great  minds  of  France  and  of  the 
world,  and,  what  is  the  most  beautiful  thing  in  exist- 
ence, a  mind  made  up  of  heart.  It  is  the  heart,  the 
large  heart,  which  speaks  in  all  that  you  utter,  urbi  et 
orbi.  Having  every  tenderness,  you  have  the  right  to 
promulgate  every  truth.  There  is  something  sublime 
and  touching  in  witnessing  the  reappearance,  in  our 
century  of  doubt  and  strife,  of  the  priestess  in  the 
imposing  figure  of  George  Sand.  At  their  best,  your 
ideas  are  heroic,  because  they  are  inspired  by  goodness. 
Hence  your  power.  What  you  say  of  life,  of  death,  of 
the  grave,  of  the  great  gamut  of  souls  on  the  lyre 
of  the  infinite,  of  the  never-ending  ascents,  of  the  radi- 
ant transfigurations,  —  all  this,  which  you  bring  before 
our  eyes  and  into  our  thoughts,  is  true  and  pure,  cour- 
ageous to  say,  necessary  to  hear.  A  few  minds,  in 
our  day,  obtain  notoriety  by  means  of  negation  ;  affir- 
mation is  left  to  the  great  souls.  You  have  the  right 
to  the  Yes.  Use  it.  Use  it  for  yourself  and  for  all. 
God  has  one  proof  among  men,  —  genius.  You  exist, 
therefore  He  exists.  I  look  on  a  profession  of  affirma- 
tion as  a  service  rendered  to  the  human  race,  and 
when  it  is  written  by  you,  it  has  a  double  light,  glory 
added  to  truth.  You  are  sad,  0  consoler !  That 
enhances  your  greatness.  Permit  me  to  tell  you  that  I 
am  deeply  moved. 

1  Les  chansons  des  rues  et  des  bois. 


TO  PAUL  DE  SAINT-VICTOR.  189 

LXXI. 

To  PAUL  DE  SALNT- VICTOR. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  KM  December,  1865. 

Solitude  would  be  irksome  without  communion  with 
great  minds.  I  seek  them  in  the  past,  and  they  reply 
to  me  ;  I  call  them  in  the  present,  and  they  reply  to 
me  there  too.  My  books  are  the  letters  which  I  write 
to  them.  You  have  just  acknowledged  receipt  of  Les 
chansons  des  rues  et  des  bois. 

You  have  read  this  book,  and  you  speak  of  it  in 
grand  terms.  You  have  the  gift  of  defining  art,in  a 
line  and  of  writing  a  poem  in  a  page.  Your  criticism 
creates  a  picture,  and  there  is  a  philosophy  in  your 
eloquence.  This  is  the  rule,  however ;  there  is  no 
exception  to  it ;  splendor  implies  profundity. 

This  law  is  found  in  nature  as  well  as  in  art.  It 
breaks  forth  in  the  sun  and  is  reflected  in  Homer.  In 
my  life  on  this  rock  amid  the  mist  and  the  storm,  my 
mind  has  gradually  become  detached  from  everything 
except  the  great  manifestations  of  the  conscience  and 
the  intellect.  I  have  never  indulged  in  hatred,  and  I 
am  no  longer  moved  by  anger.  I  look  only  on  the 
bright  side  of  human  nature  ;  I  grow  wrathful  only 
against  absolute  evil,  pitying  those  who  do  it  or  think 
it.  I  have  a  profound  faith  in  progress.  Eclipses  are 
intervals  of  obscuration,  and  how  can  I  doubt  of  the 
return  of  liberty  when  each  day  that  I  wake  I  witness 
the  return  of  light  ? 

You,  in  this  age  which  is  too  much  inclined  toward 
matter,  are  a  dispenser  of  the  ideal.  You  render  us 
the  immense  service  of  making  us  understand  the  soul 


190  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

of  the  universe,  demonstrated  by  the  masterpieces  of 
art  as  well  as  by  the  marvels  of  the  creation.  You  are 
one  of  the  luminaries  of  the  true  and  the  beautiful. 
Every  time  that  my  name  drops  from  your  pen,  I  fancy 
that  I  hear  a  rustle  of  glory. 

LXXII. 

To  THE  GONFALONIERE  OF  FLORENCE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  1st  February,  1866. 

SIR,  —  To  receive  from  the  Gonfalpniere  of  Florence, 
in  the  name  of  Italy,  the  jubilee  medal  of  Dante,  is  an 
immense  honor,  and  I  am  deeply  touched  by  it.  In 
your  eyes  my  name  is  synonymous  with  France,  and 
you  say  as  much  in  grand  terms.  Yes,  in  me,  as  in  all 
Frenchmen,  there  is  something  of  the  spirit  of  France, 
and  this  spirit  of  France  is  in  favor  of  enlightenment, 
progress,  peace,  and  liberty,  and  this  spirit  of  France 
desires  the  greatness  of  all  peoples,  and  this  spirit  of 
France  has  a  sister  in  the  spirit  of  Italy. 

LXXIII. 

To  MME.  RATTAZZI. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  21th  February,  1866. 

Alas  !  madam,  I  appeal  to  your  noble  and  charming 
heart  and  to  your  generous  mind :  after  the  crime  com- 
mitted against  Italy  at  Mentana,  not  by  France,  but 
by  the  odious  French  government,  I  can  only  raise  my 
voice  in  Italy  to  demand  Kome  and  hail  the  republic. 
You  will  understand  me,  and  you  will  approve  of  what 
I  do. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 


TO  HENRI  DE  PENE.  191 

LXXIV. 

To  HENBI  DE  PENE,  Manager  of  the  Gaulois. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  27th  February,  1866. 
MY   HONORABLE    AND    DEAR     OLD    FRIEND,  I   am 

much  touched  by  your  excellent  letter.  It  is  a  pleasure 
to  me  to  renew  our  friendly  relations  of  former  days. 
Your  offers  are  the  most  splendid  that  have  ever  been 
made  to  a  writer.  I  acknowledge  your  magnificence ; 
but  artistic  considerations  are  paramount  in  my  eyes, 
and  even  the  half  a  million  of  francs  which  you  offer 
me  cannot  overcome  my  scruples  as  an  artist.  I  am 
convinced  that  Les  travailleurs  de  la  mer  cannot  be 
cut  up  into  feuilletons.  This  mode  of  publication,  ex- 
cellent in  itself  and  one  which  I  am  far  from  condemn- 
ing, may  perhaps  suit  Quatrevingt-treize,  the  book  at 
which  I  am  working  just  now. 

Your  letter  and  telegram  reached  me  only  yesterday. 
Our  dear  mutual  friend  Paul  Meurice  will  explain  to 
you  the  isolation  of  Guernsey.  I  live  a  retired,  serious 
life  here. 

You  will  understand  my  reasons  for  declining  your 
superb  and  handsomely  made  offers,  and  you  will  thank 
me  for  them.  They  spring  entirely  from  my  con- 
science. It  is  the  latter  which,  however  much  I  may 
regret  it,  forces  me  to  turn  my  eyes  away  modestly  from 
the  half  million.  Les  travailleurs  de  la  mer  is  to 
appear  in  book  form.  When  it  is  published,  I  am  sure 
you  will  agree  with  me. 

My  warmest  thanks  for  your  cordial  proposal. 
Allow  me  to  put  something  of  the  future  in  the  greet- 
ing which  I  send  you. 


192    )  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


LXXV. 

To  PAUL  DE  SAINT-VICTOR. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  4*A  April,  1866. 

It  would  be  worth  while  writing  a  book  simply  to  get 
an  article 1  from  you.  0  brother  of  my  mind,  I  greet 
you  and  I  thank  you.  When  the  building  is  finished, 
it  is  you  who  plant  the  banner  of  light  on  the  summit. 
You  add  one  creation  to  another ;  you  are  the  great 
interpreter ;  you  write  the  poem  on  the  poem,  the 
answer  to  the  Sphinx,  the  cry  from  the  great  deep. 
This  grand  criticism  of  yours  is  also  a  great  phi- 
losophy; it  flashes  across  our  age  like  a  trail  of  light 
through  the  darkness.  You  are  one  of  the  rescuers 
of  the  ideal.  This  distinction  will  attach  to  your  name. 

What  escapes  from  the  sea  does  not  escape  from 
woman  ;  that  is  the  subject  of  the  book,  and  how  you 
have  understood  it !  And  how  you  make  others  under- 
stand it !  To  be  loved,  Gilliatt  does  everything,  Ebe- 
nezer  nothing,  and  Ebenezer  is  the  one  who  is  loved. 
Ebenezer  has  spiritual  and  physical  beauty,  and  with 
this  twofold  prestige,  he  has  only  to  appear  in  order 
to  triumph.  Gilliatt  too  has  this  double  beauty,  but 
overlaid  with  the  mask  of  frightful  labor.  His  very 
greatness  causes  his  defeat. 

I  am  indulging  in  a  conversation  with  you.  I  have 
just  read  your  article,  and  it  seems  to  me  like  a  dialogue 
begun.  When  shall  I  see  you  ?  When  will  it  be  my 
lot  to  press  the  hand  which  has  written  so  many  superb 
and  profound  things,  and  which  makes  a  masterpiece  of 
criticism  ! 

1  Saint- Victor's  article  on  Les  travailleurs  de  la  mer. 


TO  LOUIS  BOULANGER.  193 

Bear  in  mind  that  you  are  one  of  the  props  of  the 
solitary  poet.  A  page  written  by  you  is  like  a  cordial. 
Between  you  and  me  there  is  a  sort  of  mysterious  inter- 
course of  the  soul.  You  say  to  me  :  Courage  !  and  I 
say  to  you :  Thanks  ! 

I  seem  to  see  my  two  poles  marked  out  by  you  in 
your  two  articles  on  Les  chansons  des  rues  et  des  bois 
and  Les  travailleurs  de  la  mer.  Nothing  escapes  your 
powerful  mind.  You  illumine  the  whole  length  and 
breadth  of  a  work,  and  your  star,  after  having  lighted 
up  the  summit,  reappears  in  the  depths  below. 

LXXVI. 

To  Louis  BOULANGER. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  9th  April,  1866. 

I  am  not  absent,  dear  Louis,  since  I  still  keep  my 
place  in  your  heart. 

Your  letter  charms  and  moves  me ;  there  is  a  flavor 
of  our  youth  in  it.  You  still  keep  that  youth.  A 
little  child  should  have  a  young  father,  and  your  child 
is  six  years  old.  This  dawning  life  blends  sweetly  with 
your  own,  and  you  have  the  radiance  of  it.  Be  happy. 
I  constantly  have  before  me,  in  my  poor  exile's  abode, 
several  powerful  and  striking  works  signed  Louis  Bou- 
langer.  I  look  at  them  and  I  meditate.  Where  are  the 
roses  of  last  year  ?  You  are  still  my  beloved  painter, 
the  companion  that  I  miss,  one  of  those  sweet  brothers 
of  the  beginning,  still  more  precious  and  more  dear  at 

the  end. 

VOL.  n.  13 


194  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

LXXVII. 

To  MARC  FOURNTER. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  18th  April,  1866. 

MY  DEAR  COLLEAGUE,  —  I  am  touched  by  your 
obliging  proposal.  I  recognize  in  it  the  talented  writer 
as  well  as  the  artist-manager.  I  hasten  to  reply  to  you. 
To  enable  the  drama l  which  I  have  written  this  winter 
to  be  acted,  a  state  of  liberty  would  be  necessary  which 
in  France  is  granted  to  no  one,  and  to  me  least  of  all. 
I  am  therefore  compelled  to  put  it  off.  The  drama, 
however,  is  written  for  the  stage,  and  entirely  adapted 
for  scenic  effect.  But,  while  quite  playable  from  an 
artistic  point  of  view,  it  is  less  so  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  censure.  I  prefer  to  wait,  and  my  play  will 
appear  when  liberty  returns. 

If,  at  that  time,  you  are  still  good  enough  to  remem- 
ber me,  we  shall  be  able  to  resume  this  interrupted 
negotiation.  The  Porte-Saint-Martin  theatre,  which 
you  so  kindly  call  "  my  theatre,"  is  dear  to  me,  and 
there  is  no  stage  on  which  I  should  be  more  glad  to 
reappear. 

Accept,  my  dear  and  worthy  colleague,  with  the  ex- 
pression of  my  present  regret,  the  assurance  of  my 
warm  regard. 

LXXVIII. 

To  M.  CUVILLIER-FLEURY. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  30th  April,  1866. 

MY  DEAR  COLLEAGUE,  —  I  feel,  in  every  way,  so 
utterly  absent  from  the  Academy  that  I  cannot  but  be 

1  Torquemada. 


TO  M.  LACAUSSADE.  195 

touched  whenever  one  of  my  colleagues  is  kind  enough 
to  make  believe  that  I  still  belong  to  it.  Exile  has 
created  the  Academician  in  partibus  ;  I  am  that  Aca- 
demician. But  exile  has  not  been  able  to  rob  me  of 
my  old  memories  and  my  old  friendships.  You  know, 
my  dear  and  worthy  colleague,  the  place  which  you 
have  in  them. 

There  are,  and  I  regret  it,  many  points  of  disagree- 
ment between  us ;  but  we  are  agreed  in  this,  that  we 
both  have  conscience  for  our  guide  and  liberty  for  our 
goal. 

Conscience,  liberty ;  all  the  dignity  of  life  resides  in 
those  two  words.  We  can,  therefore,  in  the  Academy 
and  everywhere  else,  exchange  a  cordial  shake  of  the 
hand. 

LXXIX. 

To  M.  LACAUSSADE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  30$  May,  1866. 

I  knew  and  highly  appreciated  the  poet  in  you  ;  you 
now  reveal  to  me  the  critic.  One  is  worthy  of  the 
other.  One  feels  that  you  are  familiar  with  high  art. 
I  have  just  read  your  fine  and  thoughtful  article  on 
my  lyric  poetry.  I  am  charmed,  touched,  and  at  times 
moved  to  delight,  by  the  lofty,  philosophical,  and  ar- 
tistic qualities  you  display  in  these  few  pages. 

You  possess  the  two  qualities  without  which  no  mind 
is  complete,  —  that  is  to  say,  sympathy  with  your  age 
and  taste  for  all  time ;  you  understand  the  nineteenth 
century  and  you  understand  the  ideal.  Hence  your 
power  as  a  critic  and  your  penetration  as  an  artist. 

Taste  is  much  talked  about  in  these  days,  and  those 


196  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

who  talk  the  most  about  it  are  the  people  who  have  the 
least  of  it;  they  are  engrossed  in  a  local  transitory 
taste,  —  French  taste  in  the  seventeenth  century,  —  and 
they  cannot  appreciate  what  I  have  just  called  taste  for 
all  time. 

Thus,  in  the  name  of  Boileau  they  polish  Horace, 
and  in  the  name  of  Kacine  they  deny  JEschylus.  To 
bring  literature  back  from  this  spurious  taste  to  the 
genuine  taste,  which  embraces  Aristophanes  and  Shake- 
speare, Dante  and  Moliere,  is  the  function  of  a  mind 
such  as  yours.  Function  is  equivalent  to  mission,  and 
mission  means  the  same  as  duty. 

Continue  your  great  work  on  the  lines  of  the  ideal. 
I  thank  you  for  myself,  and  I  applaud  you  for  all. 

LXXX. 

To   MlCHELET. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  27th  May,  [1866]. 

.  .  .  Your  Louis  XV.  is  one  of  your  finest  works. 
This  king  was  rotting  in  his  grave.  You  appeared  on 
the  scene  as  the  resuscitator.  You  said  to  the  corpse : 
Stand  up  !  and  you  put  within  it  its  horrible  soul. 
Now  it  moves,  and  it  makes  one  shudder.  And  along 
with  the  reign,  you  have  portrayed  the  age,  —  the  one 
petty,  the  other  great.  The  miasma  of  the  past  and 
the  breath  of  the  future  are  in  your  book;  hence  its 
warning  and  its  encouragement,  hence  its  lesson. 

I  thank  you  ;  I  am  only  a  witness  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  I  will  say 'this  for  myself,  that  I  understand 
all  the  works  of  this  great  age,  in  which  your  place  is 
such  an  exalted  one.  The  sympathy  which  I  feel  for 
my  time,  and  for  the  men  of  my  time,  constitutes  all 


TO  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE.  197 

my  pride  and  almost  all  my  joy.  Dear  historian,  dear 
philosopher,  I  press  your  hand,  and  I  hail  your  luminous 
spirit. 

LXXXI. 

To  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE. 

BRUSSELS,  11  fh  July,  [1866]. 

I  have  just  read  Gringoire.  You  have  written  an 
exquisite  work,  intensely  sad  and  intensely  gay,  like  all 
true  comedy.  It  is  the  sob  of  the  poet  mingling  with 
the  laugh  of  the  philosopher.  It  is  human  destiny 
emphasized  by  ideal  art.  Your  Louis  XI.  makes  one 
shudder  and  smile ;  and  what  a  charming  figure  of  a 
woman  between  that  spectre,  the  king,  and  that  shadow, 
the  poet !  Your  two  ballads  are  beautiful  and  touch- 
ing. I  thank  you,  dear  poet,  for  all  the  services  which 
you  render  to  the  ideal.  Go  on  giving  me  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  succeed.  Thanks  for  my  name  side  by 
side  with  yours. 

LXXXII. 

To  THE  SAME. 

BRUSSELS,  8tk  August,  [1866]. 

Oh,  my  dear  poet,  what  beautiful  things,  and  what 
charming  things  !  Not  a  page  but  sparkles ;  not  a  word 
which  does  not  sing  and  think,  for  to  sing  is  to  think. 
The  Hymn  is  the  Word.  I  have  it,  your  book,  this 
living  water,  so  dear  to  the  heart  of  the  wretched. 
I  drink  of  it,  for  I  have  suffered,  and  my  mouth  is 
dry.  I  am  thirsty.  Honor  to  you,  poets,  —  irrigui 
fontes  ! 

You  yourself  are  one  of  the  purest  and  most  ex- 
quisite of  these  springs  ;  your  drops  of  water  are  pearls, 


198  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

and  your  pearls  are  tears,  and  your  tears  are  my  joy. 
Of  such  stuff  is  the  poet.  It  is  with  his  grief  that  he 
consoles.  One  touches  one's  wound  and  is  healed.  The 
grand  poetry  of  the  nineteenth  century,  daughter  of 
the  Revolution  and  of  eternal  liberty,  encircles  your 
head  with  one  of  its  finest  wreaths. 

I  embrace  you,  0  sweet  poet  of  poets,  0  ideal  exile, 
friend  of  the  Dantes  and  the  Homers.  You  have  every 
fault  of  the  swan ;  you  sing  as  he  does,  but  you  will 

not  die. 

LXXXIII. 

To  GEORGE  SAJST>. 

BRUSSELS,  14$  August,  1866. 

The  echo  of  your  fame  still  reaches  me,  although 
having  become  a  chronic  recluse  (which  results  in  a  sort 
of  deafness),  I  know  nothing  of  what  is  going  on.  The 
idea  of  your  story,  Un  Don  Juan  de  village,  is  a  lofty 
and  profound  one,  like  all  that  comes  from  your  great 
mind.  The  unchangeableness  of  the  perennial  essence 
of  human  nature  ;  the  heart  everywhere  the  same  ;  the 
corruption  of  the  town  accentuated  by  the  roughness 
of  the  country ;  vice  growing  in  the  fields  as  well  as  on 
the  pavement ;  a  peasant  Don  Juan,  —  all  this  bears 
the  stamp  of  that  great  truth  which  is  also  great  origi- 
nality. And  this  vice  tamed  by  love,  this  tiger  on  the 
back  of  which  leaps  the  winged  child,  gentlest  and 
strongest  of  beast-tamers,  here  again  is  greatness  in- 
stinct with  charm,  greatness  worthy  of  you. 

I  offer  you  my  humble  tribute  of  admiration. 


TO  MME.  CHENAY.  199 

LXXXIV. 

To  FRANCIS  COPPEE. 

CHAUDFONTAINE,  29*A  August,  [1866]. 
MY   YOUNG   AND    CHARMING   FELLOW-POET, 1   have 

just  arrived  from  Zealand,  and  your  letter  reaches  me 
at  Chaudfontaine.  Yes,  yes,  yes ;  I  wish  to  see  you, 
you  and  your  two  exceUent  holiday  companions.  To 
press  the  hand  of  three  poets,  to  commune  with  three 
esprits,  is  for  me,  an  old  recluse,  a  valuable  opportu- 
nity, and  I  do  not  want  to  miss  it.  Only  I  shall  not  be 
at  Brussels  till  the  15th. 

We  shall  talk  of  you,  of  your  fine  book  Le  reliquaire, 
of  art,  of  the  ideal,  of  all  that  we  desire,  of  all  that 
we  love.  We  shall  mingle  mind  with  mind,  and  your 
youth  will  bring  me  joy,  and  my  old  age  will  invite  you 
to  calm. 

You  will  all  three  come,  will  you  not,  and  dine  with 
me  at  Brussels  on  the  15th  ? 

LXXXV. 

To  MME.  CnENAY.1 

CHAUDFONTAINE,  3d  September,  [1866]. 

We  received  your  letters  safely,  dear  Julie.  Just 
now  my  wife  can  neither  read  nor  write,  but  we  are 
around  her,  and  we  do  duty  for  her  eyes.  I  brought 
her  here  because  the  country  is  a  sort  of  green  curtain. 
The  summer,  a  furnace  everywhere,  is  a  vapor-bath  here. 
One  is  not  roasted ;  one  is  melted.  It  is  a  milder  pro- 
cess. This  steamy  warmth  and  cool  shade  suit  my  wife. 
She  has  a  whole  forest  for  a  screen. 

1  Mme.  Victor  Hugo's  sister. 


200  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

We  shall  be  in  Brussels  about  the  10th  of  Septem- 
ber, and,  if  the  equinox  does  not  object  too  strongly, 
I  hope  to  be  in  Guernsey  by  the  end  of  September,  if 
not  earlier.  It  is  high  time  for  me  to  set  to  work  again. 
We  are  all  well  here.  As  for  me,  my  nightly  spasms 
have  been  troubling  me  a  little  again,  but  I  do  not  men- 
tion them  to  my  family,  as  it  would  make  them  anxious, 
and  there  is  no  cause  for  anxiety.  A  little  timely  fric- 
tion makes  the  symptoms  disappear.  I  send  you  love 
from  all  who  are  mentioned  in  your  letters,  plus  a  pretty 
little  smile  from  Master  George.  Victor  is  at  Spa.  I 
kiss  you  on  both  your  cheeks,  dear  Julie. 

LXXXVI. 

To  PAUL  DE  SAINT- VICTOR. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  20th  January,  1867. 

What  a  happy  thought  to  put  these  articles  together 
in  one  volume  !  Splendid  articles,  grand  volume,  hand- 
ful of  stars !  Your  brilliant  mind  gives  out  an  illumi- 
nation. I  thank  you  for  this  brightness.  There  is  need 
of  it ;  the  night  is  upon  us. 

But,  as  you  know,  I  am  one  of  those  who  are  not 
troubled  by  the  night.  I  am  sure  of  the  morrow ;  in 
truth,  I  do  not  believe  in  the  night  nor  in  death.  I 
believe  only  in  the  dawn. 

I  often  wander  along  my  paths  by  the  seashore, 
pensive,  thinking  of  France,  contemplating  the  horizon 
without  and  the  ideal  within  me.  I  sometimes  take  a 
book.  I  have  my  breviaries.  You  have  just  given  me 
one. 

The  occasional  mention  of  my  name  by  your  noble 
pen  gives  me  the  illusion  of  glory.  Old  and  solitary, 


TO  MME.  OCTAVE  GIRAUD.  201 

I  open  my  hands  before  the  fire  of  your  thought  and 
warm  myself  at  your  luminous  mind. 
Tuus  ex  imo. 

LXXXVII. 

To  MME.  OCTAVE  GIRAUD. 

1867. 

MADAM,  —  You  ask  me,  in  terms  which  touch  me 
deeply,  to  help  you  with  your  reminiscences  of  your 
husband.  I  can  and  I  ought  to  do  so.  I  am  anxious 
to  give  the  testimony  which  you  demand  from  me. 
Yet  it  may  be  objected  that  I  have  never  spoken  to 
M.  Octave  Giraud,  or  had  his  manuscript  in  my  hands. 
That  is  true,  I  never  saw  the  man,  but  I  know  the 
mind ;  I  never  read  the  book,  but  I  know  the  idea. 

Besides,  this  idea,  to  a  certain  extent,  comes  from 
me.  One  day  M.  Giraud  did  me  the  honor  to  consult  me. 
He  had  sent  me  some  of  his  writings  ;  I  was  aware  of 
his  knowledge,  his  intelligence,  his  travels,  his  studies 
in  the  Antilles,  his  fine  poetic  gift,  his  value  as  a  writer, 
his  significance  as  a  philosopher.  He  said  to  me : 
What  ought  I  to  do  ?  I  replied  :  Write  the  history 
of  the  black  race. 

The  black  race,  —  what  a  subject!  Till  now  the 
white  man  only  has  spoken.  The  white  man  is  the 
master ;  the  time  has  come  for  allowing  the  slave  to 
speak.  The  white  man  is  the  tormentor ;  the  time  has 
come  for  hearing  the  victim.  From  the  earliest  ages, 
on  this  globe  which  is  still  so  full  of  darkness,  two 
faces  confront  each  other  and  look  dismally  at  each 
other,  the  white  and  the  black  face.  One  represents 
civilization,  the  other  barbarism,  —  barbarism  in  two 
forms :  willful  barbarism,  i.  e.,  savagery,  and  barbarism 


202  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

under  compulsion,  i.  e.,  slavery.  One  of  these  calami- 
ties comes  from  nature,  the  other  from  civilization. 
And  here,  let  us  proclaim  it  and  denounce  it,  is  the 
.crime  of  the  white  man. 

For  six  thousand  years  Cain  has  held  the  field.  The 
)lack  man  is  subjected  to  frightful  violence  at  the  hands 
of  his  brother.  He  suffers  that  long  martyrdom  called 
servitude.  He  is  killed  in  his  intelligence,  in  his  will, 
n  his  soul.  The  human  form  which  drags  a  chain  is 
>ut  a  semblance.  The  slave  may  live,  but  the  man  is 
dead.  What  remains,  what  survives,  is  the  brute,  a 
beast  of  burden  as  long  as  it  obeys,  a  wild  beast  when 

revolts. 

The  whole  history  of  the  white  man,  the  only  one 
which  has  existed  hitherto,  is  an  enormous  mass  of 
facts,  of  doings,  of  struggles,  of  advances,  of  catas- 
trophes, of  revolutions,  of  movements  in  every  diree* 
tion,  of  which  the  black  man  is  the  melancholy  caryatid. 
Slavery  is  the  monstrous  fact  in  history. 

Underneath  our  civilization,  such  as  it  is,  with  its 
magnificent  deformities,  its  splendors,  its  trophies,  its 
triumphs,  its  flourishes  of  trumpets,  its  rejoicings,  a  cry 
is  heard.  This  cry  rises  from  under  our  fetes.  We 
hear  it  through  the  marble  of  our  temples  and  palaces. 
This  cry  is  slavery.  What  a  mission  and  what  a  task, 
to  write  the  history  of  this  cry  ! 

The  proletariate  in  Europe,  quite  a  different  and  no 
less  vast  a  question,  is  connected  by  some  of  its  ramifi- 
cations with  slavery.  But  the  human  problem  in  Europe 
is  complicated  by  the  social  question,  which  imparts  to 
it  a  tremendous  originality.  It  is  the  tragic  new-born 
child  of  modern  fatality.  In  Africa,  in  Asia,  in  Amer- 


TO  MME.  OCTAVE  GIRAUD.  203 

ica,  the  situation,  though  not  less  heart-rending,  is  more 
simple.  Color  stamps  its  unity  on  the  outcast  and  on 
the  vanquished.  The  great  funereal  type  is  the  negro. 
The  slave  has  the  same  countenance  as  the  darkness. 

To  dispel  this  fatal  darkness  is  the  supreme  effort 
of  civilization.  We  are  on  the  brink  of  this  victory. 
America  is  well-nigh  delivered  from  slavery.  I  have 
said  it  more  than  once,  —  and  I  like  to  indulge  in  the 
hopeful  thought,  —  the  time  is  drawing  near  when  man 
will  be  free.  What  are  two  colors  under  the  same 
sun !  what  are  two  different  shades,  if  on  the  pale  face 
and  on  the  dark  face  there  is  the  same  morning  light, 
—  fraternity  ! 

Beneath  all  exteriors  the  soul  is  white. 

The  resurrection  of  the  slave  in  liberty !  deliverance  ! 
reconciliation  of  Cain  and  Abel ! 

That  is  the  history  to  be  written.  The  Black  Kace 
is  the  title ;  the  subject  is  slavery. 

M.  Giraud  was  worthy  of  this  great  undertaking. 
To  thoroughly  sift  and  exhaustively  scrutinize  the  ma- 
terial it  was  necessary  to  have  studied  the  slave  and 
slavery  on  the  spot.  M.  Giraud  had  a  considerable 
advantage  ;  he  had  seen  with  his  eyes.  The  slave  had 
said  to  him  :  Vide  pedes,  vide  manus.  Slavery  is  the 
wound  in  the  side  of  humanity.  M.  Giraud  has  put  his 
finger  in  that  wound. 

He  took  this  book  in  hand;  he  almost  completed  it. 
A  short  respite  from  death,  and  he  would  have  finished 
it.  How  melancholy  are  these  interruptions  ! 

Such  as  it  is,  his  work  is  considerable.  The  frag- 
ments which  have  been  published  in  the  newspapers, 
and  which  are  known  to  all,  have  placed  the  history  and 


204  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

the  writer  on  a  high  pedestal.  This  poignant  story  has 
the  pathetic  interest  of  a  drama.  There  is  no  more 
painful  struggle,  no  more  tragic  contest.  The  whole 
question  at  issue  between  the  white  man  and  the  black 
man  is  there.  M.  Giraud  gives  it  to  us  with  the  cor- 
roborating proofs.  It  is  the  brief  against  slavery  made 
up  and  almost  completed.  Now  let  us  decide  the  case. 
iThe  sentence  has  been  pronounced,  we  may  say,  by  the 
conscience  of  the  world,  and  slavery  is  condemned,  and 
slavery  is  dead. 

LXXXVIII. 

To  ALBERT  CAiSE.1 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  2,0th  March,  1867. 

.  .  .  The  point  raised  by  the  anonymous  writer  to 
whom  you  refer  admits  of  the  simplest  explanation. 
These  matters  are  of  very  slight  importance,  but  what 
is  certain  is  that  you  are  right,  and  that  the  anonymous 
writer  is  not  wrong. 

The  relationship  to  the  Bishop  of  Ptolemais  is  a  tra- 
dition in  my  family.  I  never  knew  more  than  what  my 
father  told  me  about  it.  M.  Buzy,  formerly  a  notary 
at  Epinal,  sent  me  some  documents  of  his  own  accord, 
which  are  among  my  papers. 

Personally  I  do  not  attach  any  importance  to  gene- 
alogical questions.  The  man  is  what  he  is ;  his  value 
is  what  he  has  done.  Beyond  this,  all  that  is  added 
to  or  taken  from  him  is  nothing.  Hence  my  absolute 
contempt  for  genealogies. 

1  M.  Albert  Caise  had  published  a  genealogy  of  Victor  Hugo,  in  which 
he  assigned  him  the  arms  of  the  Hugos  of  Lorraine.  An  anonymous 
writer  discussed  this  in  the  Figaro,  asking  where  Hugo,  Bishop  of  Ptole- 
mais, was  to  be  placed  in  the  genealogy. 


TO  THE  MICKIEWICZ  COMMITTEE.  205 

The  Hugos  from  whom  I  am  descended  are,  I  believe, 
a  younger  and  possibly  illegitimate  branch,  which  had 
come  down  in  the  world  through  poverty  and  misery. 
A  Hugo  was  a  breaker-up  of  boats  on  the  Moselle. 
Mme.  de  Graffigny  ( Franc,  oise  Hugo,  wife  of  the  cham- 
berlain of  Lorraine)  addressed  him  as  "  my  cousin." 
The  "  wise  and  witty  anonymous  writer  "  is  right ;  there 
were  a  shoemaker  and  a  bishop,  beggars  and  prelates, 
in  my  family.  This  is  more  or  less  the  case  with 
everybody.  There  are  very  curious  instances  of  it  in 
the  Channel  Islands  (see  Les  travailleurs  de  la  mer,  — 
Tangrouille). 

In  other  words,  I  am  not  a  Tangroville,  I  am  a 
Tangrouille.  I  have  no  objection.  If  I  could  choose 
my  forbears,  I  would  rather  have  a  hard-working  cobbler 
for  an  ancestor  than  a  lazy  king. 

LXXXIX. 

To  GEORGE  SAND.1 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  21s*  April,  [1867]. 
Yes,  I  suffer;   yes,  I  hope.     Your  child  has  been 
restored  to  you,  mine  will  return  ;  I  believe  it,  I  know 
it.    Your  tender  and  lofty  letter  would  give  me  faith,  if 
I  did  not  possess  it.     0  great  soul,  I  take  refuge  in 
you.     The  words  which  fall  from   your  pinnacle   of 
glory  are  sweet  as  light  itself. 
Thanks. 

xo. 
To  THE  COMMITTEE  FOR  ERECTING  A  MONUMENT  TO  MICKIEWICZ. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  GUERNSEY,  17th  May,  1867. 
I  am  asked  to  say  a  few  words  over  this  illustrious 
grave.  .  .  . 

1  After  the  death  of  Charles  Hugo's  first  child. 


206  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

To  speak  of  Mickiewicz  is  to  speak  of  all  that  is 
beautiful,  just,  and  true ;  it  is  to  speak  of  the  right  of 
which  he  was  the  champion,  of  the  duty  of  which  he 
was  the  hero,  of  the  liberty  of  which  he  was  the  apostle, 
of  the  deliverance  of  which  he  is  the  forerunner. 

Mickiewicz  evoked  all  the  ancient  virtues  which  have 
in  them  a  rejuvenating  power ;  he  was  a  priest  of  the 
ideal ;  his  art  is  the  great  art ;  his  poetry  is  instinct 
with  the  mighty  breath  of  the  sacred  forests.  And  he 
understood  humanity  as  well  as  nature;  through  his 
hymn  to  the  infinite  runs  the  holy  throb  of  revolu- 
tion. Banished,  proscribed,  vanquished,  he  proudly 
flung  to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth  the  lofty  claims 
of  the  fatherland.  The  reveille  of  peoples  is  the  genius 
which  sounds  it ;  of  old  it  was  the  prophet,  now  it  is 
the  poet ;  and  Mickiewicz  is  one  of  the  clarions  of  the 
future. 

There  is  life  in  such,a  grave. 

Immortality  is  in  the  poet,  resurrection  is  in  the 
citizen. 

One  day  the  United  Peoples  of  Europe  will  say  to 
Poland :  Arise !  and  his  great  soul  will  come  forth 
from  this  tomb. 

Yes,  Poland,  that  sublime  spirit,  lies  there  with  the 
poet.  Hail  to  Mickiewicz !  Hail  to  the  noble  sleeper 
who  will  awake  !  He  hears  me,  I  know  it,  and  he 
understands  me.  He  and  I  are  two  absent  ones.  If, 
in  my  isolation  and  in  my  gloom,  I  have  no  crown  to 
bestow  in  the  name  of  glory,  I  have  the  right  to  frater- 
nize with  a  spirit  in  the  name  of  misfortune.  I  am 
not  the  voice  of  France,  but  I  am  the  cry  of  exile. 


TO  M.  CHAMPFLEURY.  207 

XCI. 

To  CHAMPFLEURT. 

BRUSSELS,  5th  August,  1867. 

MY  DEAR  COLLEAGUE,  —  Wanderers  and  absentees 
miss  a  great  deal.  Living  in  Guernsey,  traveling  to 
Brussels,  crossing  the  sea  twice,  all  this  accounts  for 
my  not  reading  your  Belle  Paule,  which  was  published 
in  May,  until  July. 

I  come  to  the  point  at  once.  I  like  the  book.  I  like 
it  because  it  is  true  and  profound,  because  it  despises 
petty  artifices,  because  it  goes  straight  to  the  great  goal 
of  art,  the  creation  of  types  by  means  of  observation 
and  intuition,  because  it  is  written  in  a  charming  style, 
because  it  is  dedicated  to  me  and  composed  for  all, 
an  extension  which  doubles  the  honor  of  the  dedica- 
tion. Yes,  for  all.  A  day  will  come  when,  thanks  to 
the  universal  character  of  education,  thanks  to  the 
advent  of  broad  daylight  in  men's  minds,  works  of  art 
will  be  essentially  popular.  The  people  has  at  bottom 
a  refined  taste.  It  likes  poets,  it  demands  the  ideal, 
it  prefers  a  heavenly  luminary  to  a  Chinese  lantern. 
Writers  of  your  stamp  have  a  lofty  function  to  dis- 
charge towards  it.  Vulgar  is  not  the  same  as  popular. 
And  not  being  vulgar  is  a  reason  for  being  popular. 
There  is  a  fine  apprehension  and  a  stern  will  in  the 
people.  That  is  also  the  basis  of  the  artist.  So  con- 
tinue. Success  supplies  the  inducement,  talent  creates 
the  obligation. 

Your  story  is  life  and  truth  from  one  end  to  the 
other.  It  is  what  you  have  observed,  what  you  have 
seen ;  it  is  real ;  at  the  same  time,  nature  is  everywhere 
set  off  by  art ;  hence,  a  book  ! 


208  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


XCII. 

To  M.  CHASSAGNAC,  Grand  Commander  of  the  Rite  Ecossais  in 

Louisiana. 

BRUSSELS,  16$  August,  1867. 

You  are  right,  dear  sir ;  although  not  a  Freemason 
in  name,  I  am  one  in  heart.  My  Freemasonry  is  loftier 
than  yours,  it  is  humanity. 

You  wish,  in  your  nobility  of  mind  and  heart,  to 
admit  black  men  into  your  ranks,  and  you  are  right ; 
I  wish  for  the  peaceful  transformation  of  the  prince 
into  the  man,  and  of  the  king  into  the  citizen.  Time  is 
required  for  this.  Be  it  so  ;  God  has  no  lack  of  it. 

In  the  mean  while,  not  being  able  to  associate  with 
the  princes  whom  you  admit,  I  am  prohibited  from  join- 
ing you.  But  I  appreciate  your  lofty  aim  and  your 
splendid  fraternity,  symbol  of  the  great  fraternity  of 
the  future. 

I  thank  you  for  having  informed  me  of  the  great  and 
serious  step  in  advance  which  you  have  just  taken  ;  the 
admission  of  black  men  among  you  is  the  beginning  of 
equality,  which  the  exclusion  of  princes  will  complete. 

xcm. 

To  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  COMMITTEE  OF  PORTO  Rico. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  24$  November,  1867. 

The  Republic  of  Porto  Rico  has  fought  bravely  foi 
its  liberty.  The  revolutionary  committee  acquaints  me 
of  this,  and  I  thank  it  for  doing  so.  Spain  turn< 
out  of  America!  that  is  the  great  aim;  that  is  th< 
great  duty  for  Americans.  Cuba  free  like  St.  Do- 
mingo. I  applaud  all  these  great  efforts. 


TO  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE.  209 

The  liberty  of  the  world  is  made  up  of  the  liberty  of 
each  people. 

xciv. 

To  ALFRED  SiRVEN.1 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  8th  December,  1867. 

Of  all  prisons,  the  one  which  I  know  the  best  is  exile. 
I  have  been  turning  in  that  cage  for  nearly  sixteen 
years. 

I  know  Sainte-Pelagie  from  the  outside  only.  As  a 
child,  I  played  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes.  I  used  to  go 
to  the  top  of  the  maze,  and  I  saw  a  large  flat  roof,  on 
which  was  a  sentry-box,  and  a  soldier  strolling  up  and 
down,  with  a  gun  in  his  hand.  My  mother  said  to  me : 
"  It  is  a  prison  !  " 

A  prison  can  be  very  large.  A  flat  thing,  on  which 
a  soldier  walks  about,  describes  the  Europe  of  to-day. 

Later  on,  I  heard  about  the  interior  of  Sainte-Pelagie 
from  two  old  friends  of  mine,  Beranger  and  Lamennais. 
Beranger  wrote  to  me  shortly  before  his  death  :  "  I 
began  with  imprisonment,  and  you  end  with  exile." 
And  I  replied  to  him :  "  All  is  for  the  best !  Let  us 
hope  !  The  future  is  a  dawn." 

xcv. 
To  THEODORE  DE  BANVILLE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  20th  December,  [1867], 
You  are  an  exquisite  poet  and  a  charming  friend. 
Do  not  be  afraid,  the  variations  of  the  magnetic  needle 
called  fashion  are  meaningless  ;  they  govern  only  the 
Scribe  drama  and  Feuillet  literature.  Where  you  are, 
is  taste  ;  where  you  are,  is  art. 

1  In  reply  to  a  request  for  information  about  the  prison  of  Sainte- 
P&agie. 

VOL.  n.          14 


210  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Your  exquisite,  your  beautiful  odes  in  the  Charivari 
appeal  to  La  voix  de  Guernesey.  Here  it  is.  You 
will  find  it  in  a  separate  envelope.  My  echo  answers 
you:  — 

"  Echo  n'est  plus  un  son  qui  dans  Tart  retentisse, 
C'est  une  voix  qui  dit :  Droit,  Liberte,  Justice." 

I  have  corrected  for  you,  in  the  copy  which  I  am 
sending,  a  wrong  rhyme,  ennemis,  amis,  which  is  in 
Voltaire,  which  quite  condemns  it.  This  rhyme  comes 
from  a  mistake  of  the  copyist,  who  substituted  an 
erased  line  for  the  right  one.  Give  me  absolution. 

Who  on  earth  could  have  told  you  that  I  never  put 
the  names  of  my  friends  in  my  verses  ?  Some  day  you 
may  find  out  the  contrary  to  your  cost.  You  may  take 
this  threat  as  a  promise. 

Is  there  no  chance  of  your  coming  to  see  my  ocean? 
Just  now  it  is  terrible,  but  sublime.  If  you  are  not 
afraid  of  its  wrath,  come  and  spend  a  month  or  two 
with  me.  You  will  have  a  poor  lodging,  but  will  be 
well  taken  care  of. 

xcvi. 

To  ALFRED  ASSELINE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  22d  December,  1867. 

MY  DEAR  ALFRED,  —  I  have  received  your  charming 
letter,  and  have  looked  carefully  in  the  pockets  of  the 
pair  of  trousers.  Kesult,  nothing  !  nothing !  nothing  ! 
(Desmousseaux  de  Civre  *).  It  is  as  empty  as  the  noddle 
of  an  Academician.  I  am  like  Margaret  of  Savoy,  a 
widow  before  the  wedding.  I  am  lamenting  my  loss. 

It  is  probable  that   in   packing  the   trousers  they 

1  A  deputy  in  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe,  who  addressed  Guizot  as 
follows  :  "  Qu'avez-vous  fait  ?  Rien  !  rien  !  rien  !  A 


TO  FRANCOIS  COPPEE.  211 

dropped  the  little  case,  which  was  in  the  fob.  Do  have 
a  good  search  made. 

But  the  case  alone  is  not  enough  for  me ;  we  want 
your  wife  and  you.  Can't  you  manage  to  come  to 
Guernsey  for  a  time  ?  Unfortunately  I  have  no  suit- 
able apartment  for  Mme.  Asseline,  but  a  place  at  table 
morning  and  evening,  castanece  molles,  this  is  what  I 
offer  you. 

Give  my  respects  to  your  wife  into  the  bargain,  and 
be  jealous. 

12  p.  M.  Latest  news.  —  As  I  was  about  to  close 
this  letter  the  post  arrived,  and  a  little  box  with  a 
stamp  is  brought  me ;  it  is  the  case  !  I  open  it  and 
am  lost  in  admiration.  Nothing  could  be  more  charm- 
ing. It  is  a  perfect  gem.  It  is  historical  and  fanciful. 
Thanks,  dear  poet,  for  this  pretty  thing. 

Very  latest.  —  A  lot  of  people  in  my  house  for  the 
poor  children's  Christmas  entertainment.  A  number 
of  charming  women.  Your  delightful  case  has  been 
handed  round.  Universal  admiration.  Strange  to  say, 
it  has  not  been  stolen. 

XCVII. 

To   FRAN9OIS   COPPEE. 

HAUTE VILLE  HOUSE,  5th  January,  [1868]. 

Just  as  I  was  sending  you  my  angry  poetry,  you 
were  forwarding  me  your  charming  poetry.  La  voix 
de  Guernesey  met  your  sweet  idyl  of  the  soldier  and 
the  servant  girl  on  the  road.  My  lightning  crossed 
your  sunbeam. 


212 


THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


Power  of  the  poet !  Here  are  the  private  soldier 
and  the  nursemaid  transfigured.  They  will  no  longer 
be  laughed  at.  What  an  elegy  you  have  managed  to 
extract  from  these  hitherto  grotesque  figures.  Melan- 
cholia. We  always  have  to  revert  to  the  great  alle- 
gorical bat  of  Albert  Diirer.  Melancholy  is  our  back- 
ground. Life  is  enacted  in  front ;  God  is  behind. 
Let  us  hope. 

Will  you  forward  the  inclosed  to  M.  Paul  Verlaine, 
your  friend  and  mine  ? 

xcvm. 

To  TH^OPHILE  GATJTIER. 

HAUTEVILLK  HOUSE,  29th  April,  1868. 

DEAR  TH^OPHILE,  —  I  have  just  read  your  splendid 
article  on  La  legende  des  siecles.  I  am  more  than 
touched  by  it ;  I  am  deeply  moved.  So  sweet  voices 
still  reach  me  in  my  solitude.  Our  youthful  attach- 
ment has  become  an  old  friendship.  The  great  gulf 
between  us  does  not  prevent  your  glance  from  seeking 
mine  and  my  hand  from  pressing  yours.  You  give  me 
one  of  your  wreaths,  you  who  have  the  right  to  all. 
As  a  poet,  you  are  a  spokesman  of  the  ideal;  as  a 
critic,  you  are  a  spokesman  of  glory. 

Why  has  a  kurel  grown  on  this  spot?  Because 
Petrarch  once  spoke  there. 

What  was  said  of  Petrarch  will  be  said  of  you. 

Where  your  criticism  casts  its  seed,  the  laurel  will 
spring  up. 


TO  AUGUSTE  VACQUERIE.  213 

XCIX. 

To  MME.  CHENAY. 

BRUSSELS,  27th  August,  7  A.  M.,  [1868]. 

MY  POOR  JULIE,  —  Your  sister  is  dead.  This  be- 
loved creature  has  left  us. 

On  the  24th  she  was  in  perfect  health,  she  was 
driving  about  Brussels  with  us  in  excellent  spirits. 
The  day  before  yesterday,  the  25th,  she  had  an  attack ; 
yesterday,  the  26th,  Dr.  Allix,  who  had  been  sum- 
moned by  telegraph,  arrived.  There  was  a  consulta- 
tion of  the  doctors ;  in  the  evening,  a  little  hope ;  this 
morning,  at  half  past  six,  she  passed  away.  I  am 
broken-heartedo  God  will  receive  this  gentle  and  lofty 
soul  into  light.  She  now  has  wings.  We  are  in  tears. 
I  am  overwhelmed  with  grief. 

I  send  you  my  fond  love,  my  dearest  sister,  as  do  all 
of  us.  Alas  !  your  tears  will  flow  as  well  as  ours. 

c. 

To  AUGUSTE  VACQUERIE. 

1st  September,  1868. 

You  are  admirable  as  you  always  are,  and  you  have 
done  everything  well.  Thank  your  family,  which  so 
many  pleasing  and  painful  points  of  contact  have  made 
mine  as  well.  I  have  had  five  sleepless  nights ;  my  eyes 
are  all  sore.  Meurice's  exquisite  letter  has  relieved 
them  by  making  my  tears  flow.  All  that  you  mention 
shall  be  done.  Glory  will  soon  be  yours ;  that  will  con- 
sole me.  I  am  deeply  attached  to  you. 

As  soon  as  you  have  received  this  letter,  go  and  press 
your  lips  to  the  three  graves  for  me. 


214  THE  LETTERS  .OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

CI. 

To  PAUL  MEURICE. 

BRUSSELS,  1st  September,  [1868]. 

Meurice,  my  gentle  and  noble  friend,  I  have  read 
your  touching  farewell  to  the  dear  lost  one,  and  my 
tears  break  forth  afresh.  They  had  stopped  and  were 
choking  me. 

You  make  me  weep.     Thanks. 

on. 

To  VICTOR  PAVTE. 

3d  September,  [1868]. 

I  am  broken-hearted  ;  I  feel  that  you  still  love  me 
a  little  ;  I  hear  your  voice  as  the  voice  of  my  past  and 
of  my  youth,  a  sweet  and  solemn  appeal.  I  am  old. 
I  shall  soon  go  to  join  the  great  soul  which  has  just 
departed. 

cm. 

To  THEODORE  DE  BANTILLE. 

3d  September,  [1868]. 

DEAR,  GENTLE  POET,  —  You  know  how  to  give  fit- 
ting and  lofty  consolation.  I  suffer,  and  your  message 
makes  me  feel  that  I  am  loved,  and  that  I  still  live. 

civ. 

To  G.  MARGIN,  Editor  of  the  Phare  de  la  Loire. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  ISth  November,  1868. 

MY  DEAR  COLLEAGUE,  —  Do  you  really  want  the 
information  ?  Here  is  the  truth  about  my  supposed 
income  of  78,000  francs.  I  am  quite  ready  to  talk 
about  my  affairs  to  a  friend  like  you. 


TO  G.  MARGIN.  215 

After  all  the  losses  entailed  by  exile,  the  following 
was  my  position  at  the  end  of  August  last,  when  j&e 
accounts  to  which  your  correspondent  refers  were  sent 
in.  I  have  :  — 

Francs. 

Istly  in  Belgium,  300  shares  in  the  National  Bank, 

fluctuating  income,  at  most 35,000 

2dly  in  England,  I  shall  have  next  April  (investment 
of  proceeds  of  my  recent  works)  in  English  consols, 
425,000  francs,  income 12,500 

3dly  in  France,  allowance  from  the  Institute    .     .     .       1,000 

4thly  Hauteville  House ;  lodging,  no  income ;  I  pay 
rent  at  Brussels. 

48,500 

In  consequence  of  family  arrangements  which  have 
had  to  be  made  I  have  to  pay  out  of  these  48,500  a 
yearly  sum  of 29,500 

In  addition  to  this  I  spend  every  year,  on  various 
charitable  objects,  especially  on  a  small  charitable 
institution  for  children  which  I  have  started,  about 
(minimum) 7,000 

36,500 

which,  subtracted  from  the  48,500,  leave  me  an  income 
of  my  own  of  12,000  francs ;  as  I  have  children,  I 
consider  myself  entitled  to  a  life  interest  only. 

All  this  is  confidential  and  does  not  require  publicity, 
for  nothing  in  this  little  statement  can  interest  the 
public.  But  I  am  anxious  to  give  information  to  a 
high-minded  and  sympathetic  man  like  you;  when 
opportunity  offers,  you  will  remember  this  letter,  and 
when  you  see  me  calumniated,  you  will  know  the  truth. 
That  is  enough  for  me.  In  public  I  prefer  silence  on 
such  matters. 


216  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

One  word  more.  Your  correspondent  is  right  if  he 
meant  that  I  had  an  income  o£  78,000  francs  (and  even 
more)  out  of  the  receipts  from  my  plays ;  this  is  per- 
fectly true,  only  my  plays  are  not  acted  now.  All  this 
between  ourselves. 

cv. 

To  FRANQOIS  MORAND,  Judge  at  Boulogne-sur-Mer. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  22d  November,  1868. 

I  answer  your  question,  dear  sir,  for  you  are  witty, 
learned,  and  charming  (I  refer  here  to  literature  only). 
No,  I  did  not  know  L'Arlequin  of  Le  Sage,  and  I  have 
been  delighted  to  make  acquaintance  with  it  through 
you.  The  resemblances  which  you  point  out  to  me  are 
very  real.  The  result  for  me  is  the  inward  satisfaction, 
because  my  conscience  confirms  it,  of  having  fortui- 
tously used  the  same  expressions  as  the  great  writer 
who  created  Gil  Bias. 

May  I  tell  you  of  another  coincidence  of  which  I 
was  still  more  proud  ?  It  was  in  1823.  Lamennais, 
who  had  been  my  confessor  (which  of  us  two  perverted 
the  other  ?),  came  to  see  me  one  morning.  I  was  writ- 
ing some  lines  which  I  had  just  composed.  Lamen- 
nais looked  over  my  shoulder  and  read  the  following : 

"  Ephdmere  histrion  qui  salt  son  role  a  peine, 
Chaque  homme  ivre  d'audace  ou  palpitant  d'effroi, 
Sous  le  say  on  du  patre  ou  la  robe  du  roi, 
Vient  passer,  a  son  tour,  son  heure  sur  la  scene." 

"  Hullo  !  "  he  said,  "  do  you  know  English  ?  "  I 
replied :  "  No  "  (I  do  not  know  English  even  now). 
And  I  added  :  "  Why  ?  "  "  Because,"  replied  Lamen- 
nais, "  you  have  just  written  a  line  of  Shakespeare." 


TO  FRANCOIS  MORAND.  217 

"Bah!"  "Have  you  read  Shakespeare?"  "No, 
I  don't  want  to  read  Le  Tourneur."  "  Well,"  said 
Lamennais  (my  ex-confessor,  who  knew  that  I  was 
speaking  the  truth),  "  you  are  both  authors  of  the  line. 
You  have  hit  on  the  same  idea  as  Shakespeare."  And 
he  quoted  a  line  from  Macbeth,  with  the  same  compari- 
son as  mine  and  almost  the  same  words  :  each  man  in 
turn  spends  his  hour  upon  the  stage.1 

Now  decide,  my  dear  judge. 

A  word  about  a  more  serious  matter  in  your  com- 
munication. 

I  had  as  little  to  do  with  M.  Granier  de  Cassagnac's 
article  (1833)  on  Alexandre  Dumas  as  yourself.  Head 
the  declaration  of  M.  Bertin  the  elder,  in  the  Journal 
des  Deb  at s.  Bead  the  declaration  of  M.  Granier  de 
Cassagnac,  which  he  would  confirm  even  to-day,  I  am 
sure,  although  we  are  as  wide  apart  as  the  poles. 

Do  you  want  my  word  of  honor  about  this  ?  I  give 
it  to  you.  If  you  knew  me  well,  you  would  not 
need  it. 

And  I  press  your  hand,  and  I  thank  you  for  having 
made  me  acqiiainted  with  Le  Sage's  Serendib  and 
L'Arlequin.  In  politics,  I  would  take  exception  to  you; 
but  in  literary  matters  I  accept  you,  my  most  amiable 
judge,  my  courteous  colleague. 

1  "  Life  's  but  a  walking  shadow  ;  a  poor  player, 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage." 


218  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

CVI. 

To  M.  D'ALTON-SH^E. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  8th  December,  1868. 

I  look  on  your  Memoirs,  my  dear  d' Alt  on,  as  mes- 
sages from  your  noble  mind.  Once  more  thanks,  and 
once  more  bravo  to  these  hearty  and  sturdy  pages. 

On  the  fortifications  of  Paris  my  view  is  as  follows  : 
/  would  not  have  built  them,  but  I  would  not  destroy 
them.  They  should  not  be  pulled  down  till  the  mor- 
row of  the  day  when  Europe  will  be  proclaimed  a 
republic  in  its  parliament,  sitting  in  the  meeting-place 
of  the  Federation  of  Paris.  Then  all  barriers  will  fall 
and  all  hearts  will  open.  You,  my  dear  d' Alton,  will 
belong  to  that  parliament ;  I,  too,  perhaps,  —  if  I  am 
not  dead. 

I  have  a  long-standing  and  deep  sympathy  with 
you.  You  are  a  citizen  with  a  gentleman's  pride  and  a 
nobleman's  dignity.  Your  mind  is  lofty  because  it  is 
free.  You  are  fraternal  with  all,  and  in  your  old  age, 
if  need  be,  paternal.  You  commend  yourself  to  my 
exile.  You  and  I  are  the  only  two  republican  peers. 
I  feel  as  if  you  were  a  sort  of  brother  to  me.  I  am 
your  senior  in  age  only ;  for  you  had  understood  and 
wished  for  the  Kepublic  before  me.  My  belated  logic 
reached  it  some  time  after  yours.  Armand  Carrel  had 
a  good  deal  to  do  with  this  delay.  If  it  were  worth 
while  to  make  a  reproach  out  of  it,  the  responsibility 
would  lie  with  him. 

I  reply  to  your  question.  I  heard  of  my  appoint- 
ment to  the  peerage  on  the  16th  of  April,  1845. 
Twenty  years  before,  to  a  day,  I  had  heard,  almost  in 


TO  JULES  CLAKETIE.  219 

the  same  way,  that  I  was  decorated.  I  note  this  only 
because  Lamartine  and  I  were  made  members  of  the 
Legion  of  Honor  on  the  same  day  (16th  of  April, 
1825),  no  one  else  being  appointed  at  the  time. 

cvn. 

To  JULES   CLAKETIE.1 

31st  December,  1868. 

...  It  is  eZ  Puente  de  los  Contrdbandistas.  I  saw 
it  in  the  Pyrenees,  when  I  was  a  child.  The  Smug- 
glers' Bridge  was  a  terrible  thing.  It  was  used  as  a 
bridge  by  smugglers  and  as  a  gallows  by  justice.  They 
were  hung  to  the  beams.  That  did  not  prevent  them 
from  continuing  to  pass  over  it.  The  bridge  was  also 
described  as  follows  :  — 

ON  MARCHE   DESSUS, 
ON  DAN8E  DESSOU8. 

I  quoted,  in  the  Dernier  jour  d'un  condamnfi,  the 
melancholy  lines  :  — 

"  Je  lui  f  erai  donner  la  danse 
Oil  il  n'y  a  pas  de  plancher." 

This  dismal  dance  is  what  I  am  sending  you.  For- 
give me.  It  is  repulsive,  but  useful.  The  execution- 
ers must  have  their  work  brought  under  their  noses. 
So  let  us  show  up  the  horrors  of  the  past. 

The  present  is  not  much  more  attractive.  But  what 
a  Morrow  you  will  have,  you  who  are  young  !  /  shall 
be  dead. 

1  Sending  him  a  drawing. 


220  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

CVIII. 

To  MME.  RATTAZZI. 

1st  January,  1869. 

What  can  I  say?  I  am  dazzled,  intoxicated,  over- 
whelmed. Your  tender  friendship  gives  me  a  glimpse 
of  paradise,  and  I  cannot  enter  it ;  I  am  bound  and 
sentenced  by  my  own  line. 

"  Revenir  sur  ses  pas  k  la  porte  du  ciel !  " 

I  wrote  that  and  I  am  under  its  orders.  This  winter 
they  thought  I  was  very  ill ;  the  doctors  told  me  that  I 
must  make  a  rapid  journey  across  France  and  go  to 
Nice.  I  replied :  I  have  made  an  oath,  I  cannot  put 
foot  in  France ;  I  would  sooner  die  first !  But  it  is 
much  easier  to  die  than  to  resist  you.  When  I  think 
that  she  is  there,  facing  me,  she  who  unites  all,  she 
who  combines  beauty,  grace,  courage,  commanding 
and  bewitching  intelligence,  brilliant  acquirements,  deep 
poetry,  and  that  she  says  to  me  :  Come  !  and  in  such 
affecting  and  enchanting  terms  !  —  oh !  not  to  obey, 
not  to  come,  not  to  hasten  to  the  spot,  not  to  trample 
on  the  frontier,  were  it  red-hot  iron,  and  on  the  oath, 
were  it  writ  in  brass,  do  you  know,  madam,  that  that 
is  a  superhuman  effort,  and  that  I  am  almost  prostrated 
by  it !  What !  it  is  you  who  send  me  this  flower  !  it  is 
you  who  have  written  these  lines  !  they  were  composed 
by  you,  they  are  destined  for  me,  on  your  lips  plays 
that  angelic  smile  in  which  I  fancy  I  see  the  birth  of 
a  star.  That  heavenly  smile  will  welcome  me.  And 
I  stay  where  I  am !  Alas  !  try  to  fathom  the  depth 
of  this  regret.  What  a  stern  thing  sometimes  is  duty  ! 
I  wrote  this  :  — 


TO  MME.  RATTAZZI.  221 

"  Et  s'il  n'en  reste  qu'tm,  je  serai  celui-la  !  " 

France  is  closed  to  me,  and  France,  when  you  are 
not  there,  is  the  fatherland,  and  when  you  are  there,  is 
paradise. 

You  write  to  me  also  these  words,  which  issue  from 
your  heart  like  a  ray  of  light :  "  I  shall  not  feel  quite 
settled  in  Paris,  and  glad  to  be  there,  until  you  are 
there,  too.  What  nice  talks  we  shall  have  !  And  how 
softly  and  poetically  the  time  will  glide  by."  I  read 
these  adorable  lines,  these  still  more  adorable  plans, 
over  and  over  again,  and  my  hand  trembles.  Does 
your  youth  reflect  on  my  years  ?  Am  I  ^Eschylus,  to 
be  the  chosen  friend,  as  you  say,  in  spite  of  my  gray 
hairs,  of  queen  Khodope,  of  the  dazzling  Rhodope,  who 
was  alike  the  genius  and  the  sovereign  of  Acragas,  and 
who  was  of  the  blood  of  Zeus  as  you  are  of  the  blood 
of  Napoleon  ?  She  preferred  the  aged  ^Eschylus,  who, 
like  her,  was  a  genius,  to  the  young  Hieron,  who  was 
a  sovereign  like  her.  But  I,  am  I  ^Eschylus,  and  would 
it  not  be  better  that  you  should  not  see  me  again  ? 

This  letter  which  I  am  writing  distresses  me  deeply, 
but  I  feel  that  it  will  not  vex  you,  that  it  will  even 
please  you.  I  -know  your  lofty  character  too  well  to 
doubt  for  a  moment  of  your  approval  of  my  painful 
sacrifice.  A  bitter  sacrifice  !  but  you  are  capable  of 
understanding  as  well  as  of  inspiring  every  act  of  hero- 
ism, and  I  declare,  I  am  a  hero  to-day,  to-day  for  the 
first  time.  Resist  you,  great  Heavens  !  all  that  I  have 
done  hitherto  is  as  nothing  compared  with  what  I  am 
doing  now ;  but  since  you  are  my  friend,  since  your 
regard  has  a  place  in  my  life,  I  ought  to  remain  worthy 
of  this  celestial  friendship. 


222  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

To  hide  myself,  to  creep  into  France,  even  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  you,  of  obeying  you,  to  crouch  un- 
easily under  the  eye  of  the  police,  to  lower  myself  in 
the  sight  of  your  cousin  and  your  persecutor,  even  for 
the  sake  of  basking  once  more  in  your  sunlight,  of 
entering  into  your  heaven,  —  this  I  must  not  do.  You 
are  my  best  friend,  nay  brave  friend,  you  are  attached 
to  me,  therefore  you  approve  my  decision. 

I  keep  your  letter  indelibly  engraven  on  my  heart. 
I  was  away  when  it  arrived,  and  I  have  just  found  it  on 
my  return,  and  I  write  to  you  in  deep  emotion,  for  I 
fancy  that  it  is  your  angelic  soul  which  has  just  exhaled 
from  the  flower  to  which  I  have  pressed  my  lips. 

cix. 

To  M.  COELLOPOITLO. 

12th  January,  [1869]. 

Your  eloquent  letter  has  touched  me  deeply.  Yes, 
you  are  right  in  counting  upon  me  as  a  writer  and  as  a 
citizen.  The  little  that  I  am  and  the  little  that  I  can 
do  is  at  the  service  of  your  noble  cause. 

The  cause  of  Crete  is  that  of  Greece,  and  the  cause 

Greece  is  that  of  Europe.  These  connections  escape 
the  notice  of  kings  and  are  nevertheless  the  height  of 
logic.  Diplomacy  is  simply  the  stratagems  of  princes 
against  the  logic  of  God.  But  in  the  end  God  prevails. 
God  and  right  are  synonymous. 

I  am  but  a  single  voice,  stubborn,  but  lost  in  the 
triumphal  tumult  of  reigning  iniquity.  What  matter  ! 
listened  to  or  not,  I  shall  go  on.  You  tell  me  that 
Crete  asks  me  for  what  Spain  has  asked  of  me.  Alas  ! 
I  can  but  utter  a  cry.  For  Crete  I  have  already  done 
so ;  I  will  do  it  again. 


TO  FRANCOIS  COPPEE.  223 

I  belong  to  Greece  as  much  as  to  France.  I  am 
ready  to  give  my  stanzas  for  Greece  like  Tyrtseus,  and 
my  blood  like  Byron.  Your  sacred  country  has  my 
deepest  love.  I  think  of  Athens  as  one  thinks  of  the 
sun. 

ex. 

To  FRANQOIS  COFFEE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  30th  January,  1869. 

You  send  me  your  work,  but  public  rumor  had 
already  told  me  of  your  success.  It  was  more  than  an 
echo  of  rejoicing,  it  was  an  echo  of  glory.  Paris  has 
hailed  you  a  poet.  My  dear  and  charming  colleague,  I 
have  read  your  Passant.  I  am  delighted.  It  is  excel- 
lent versification,  strong  and  tender  thought,  the  total 
effect  exquisite. 

You  have  harmoniously  brought  the  moon  into  the 
landscape  and  melancholy  into  the  poem,  —  an  atmo- 
sphere which  makes  the  thinker  meditate. 

To  write  a  work  like  this  is  admirable ;  to  achieve 
such  a  success  is  perfect.  Our  generous  youth  has 
understood  you.  You  are  a  priest  of  the  true  and 
great  art;  the  rising  generation  applauds  you,  and  I 
cry  out  to  you,  Thanks  !  and  to  them,  Bravo  ! 

CXI. 

To  MME.  CESSIAT  DE  LAMARTEsrE.1 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  10th  March,  1869. 

Since  the  year  1821  I  have  been  warmly  attached  to 
Lamartine.  This  friendship  of  fifty  years  now  under- 
goes the  momentary  eclipse  of  death.  I  did  not  like, 
just  at  first,  to  intrude  on  your  sorrow  with  my  sym- 

1  On  the  death  of  Lamartine. 


224  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

pathy ;  but  at  the  present  moment  you  will  allow  me, 
will  you  not,  to  communicate  to  you  —  to  you  who  were 
connected  with  him  by  blood,  who  loved  him  and  were 
loved  by  him  —  my  profound  grief.  Every  form  of 
glory,  from  popularity  to  immortality,  belongs  to  Lamar- 
tine,  luminous  poet,  powerful  and  immortal  orator.  He 
seems  dead  to  us,  he  is  not  really  so.  Lamartine  has 
not  ceased  to  give  forth  his  light.  Henceforth  he 
shines  with  a  twofold  radiance :  in  our  literature  as  a 
genius,  and  in  the  great  unknown  life  as  a  star. 

cxn. 

To  VICTORIEN  SARDOU. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  31s/  March,  [1869]. 

MY  DEAR  COLLEAGUE,  —  You  have  written  my  son 
Charles  a  letter  which  touches  and  moves  me.  In  the 
blaze  of  your  dazzling  success,  you  bestow  a  thought  on 
a  recluse,  twice  banished,  yesterday  exiled  from  France, 
to-day  exiled  from  the  stage.  I  thank  you  from  the 
bottom  of  my  heart. 

Your  triumphant  work,  Patrie,  rekindles  lofty  senti- 
ments and  proud  thoughts,  and  you,  at  any  rate,  are 
entitled  to  say  to  the  spectators  whose  republicanism 
you  have  just  reinvigorated :  Plaudite  cives  ! 

CXIII. 

To  MME.  CHENAT. 

LONDON,  Sunday  the  23d  [May,  1869]. 

MY  DEAR  LITTLE  SISTER,  —  Your  letters  are  as  nice 
as  yourself.  I  am  a  lazy  old  brute,  which  accounts 
for  my  not  having  duly  replied  to  you.  To-day  I  do 
better  than  this,  I  am  on  my  way  home.  However,  a 


TO  SWINBURNE.  225 

strong  southwesterly  gale  is  blowing,  and  we  shall  not 
be  able  to  land  in  Guernsey  till  the  26th  (Wednes- 
day). 

You  may  prepare  for  that  occasion  the  various  tri- 
umphal arches  you  have  in  stock,  the  addresses,  the 
keys  of  Hauteville  on  a  massive  golden  salver,  the  pro- 
found obeisances  of  the  cat  and  her  kitten,  and  the 
Latin  verses  which  I  beg  you  to  write  in  my  honor. 

I  hope  the  wind  will  go  down.  The  crossing  from 
Ostend,  very  good  for  the  first  four  hours,  was  awful 
at  the  end.  I  kiss  you  on  your  two  nice  cheeks. 

CX1V. 

To  SWINBURNE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  14th  July,  [1869]. 
The  great  date. 

DEAR  AND  CORDIAL  POET,  —  I  was  deeply  touched 
by  your  letter  and  your  article. 

You  are  right :  you,  Byron,  and  Shelley,  three  aris- 
tocrats, three  republicans.  And  I,  it  is  from  aristo- 
cracy that  I  have  risen  to  democracy,  it  is  from  the 
peerage  that  I  have  arrived  at  the  Republic,  as  one 
passes  from  a  river  to  the  ocean.  These  are  striking 
phenomena.  Nothing  is  so  significant  as  these  victories 
of  the  truth. 

Thanks,  ex  imo  corde,  for  your  splendid  article 
on  my  book.1  What  lofty  philosophy,  what  profound 
intuition  you  have  !  In  the  great  critic,  one  feels  the 
great  poet. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

1  L'homme  qui  rit. 
VOL.  H.  15 


226  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

CXV. 

To  L.  HUGONNET. 

BRUSSELS,  24th  August,  1869. 

I  have  been  very  slow,  dear  sir,  in  replying  to  you. 
It  is  not  my  fault.  I  live  in  a  vortex,  a  strange  thing 
for  a  recluse.  No  leisure.  Not  a  moment  to  myself. 
But  I  was  anxious  to  read  your  paper ;  it  is  excellent. 
Yes,  you  are  right,  France  is  for  Africa  what  England 
is  for  Asia,  a  bad  guardian.  To  teach  barbarism  the 
rudiments  of  civilization  is  the  duty  and  the  right  of 
older  peoples.  This  right  and  this  duty  are  not  better 
understood  by  the  French  government  than  by  the  Eng- 
lish government.  Hence  your  complaints,  in  which  I 
join. 

When  the  Kepublic  returns,  justice  will  return.  The 
real  light  of  France  will  shine  in  Africa.  Let  us  hope. 
Let  us  wait.  Let  us  struggle  on. 

You  are  a  young  and  noble  mind.  Your  generation, 
somewhat  belated,  will  end  by  doing  great  things,  in 
which  you  will  share.  I  congratulate  you  beforehand, 
/shall  be  dead.  I  shall  bequeath  to  you  all  my  spirit. 

CXVI. 

To  FRAxgois  COPPEE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  10th  January,  1870. 

MY  YOUNG  AND  DEAR  FELLOW-POET,  —  I  have  re- 
ceived,  from  you  I  believe,  your  fine  poem  Les  for- 
gerons.  Qua  philosopher  and  democrat,  I  am  unable 
to  accept  the  standpoint ;  but  qua  poet,  I  applaud,  to- 
gether with  the  delighted  public,  all  these  firm,  vigor- 
ous, and  pathetic  lines. 


TO  EDGAR  QUINET.  227 

Go  on  with  your  great  successes;  you  will  end,  I 
hope,  by  turning  altogether,  like  myself,  towards  the 
people.  The  truth  lies  in  that  direction. 

As  for  beauty,  you  know  where  to  find  it. 

CXVII. 

To  HENRI  KOCHEFORT. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  10$  February,  1870. 

I  have  written  to  you  several  times  ;  I  doubt  whether 
my  letters  have  reached  you.  I  make  this  one  small 
so  that  it  may  arrive  at  its  destination.  Being  after 
the  image  of  the  Empire,  it  will  pass  unobserved,  I 
hope. 

You  are  now  in  prison ;  I  congratulate  the  Kevolu- 
tion.  Your  popularity  is  as  unbounded  as  your  talent 
and  your  courage.  All  that  you  have  foretold  is  com- 
ing to  pass.  Henceforth  you  are  one  of  the  forces  of 
the  future. 

I  am,  as  ever,  your  sincere  friend,  and  I  press  your 
hand,  dear  prisoner,  dear  conqueror. 

CXVIII. 

To  EDGAR  QUINET. 

26th  February,  1870. 

Old  age  is  the  age  of  adding  up,  for  thoughts  as  well 
as  for  years,  for  the  mind  as  well  as  for  life.  Only  the 
total  of  years  is  overwhelming,  the  total  of  thoughts 
is  sustaining.  Hence  the  result  that,  while  the  body 
decays,  the  mind  expands.  There  is  a  sort  of  dawn 
within  it. 

This  mysterious  rejuvenation,  of  which,  like  you,  I 
am  aware,  this  doubling  of  the  moral  and  intellectual 


228  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

forces  while  the  material  force  is  sinking,  this  growth 
in  decay,  what  a  magnificent  proof  it  is  of  the  soul ! 
The  enfeebled  cerebral  matter  gives  forth  a  more  vig- 
orous thought.  Of  the  two  beings,  the  one  organic, 
the  other  essential,  which  make  up  the  man,  the  first 
crumbles  away,  the  second  breaks  its  bonds.  The  mind 
sees  the  grave  and  feels  the  spring.  It  creates  up  to 
the  last  moment  —  sublime  promise  of  the  great  un- 
known life  which  it  is  about  to  enter.  Its  span  aug- 
ments. The  process  resembles  an  unfolding  of  the 
wings. 

CXIX. 

To  PAUL  VERLAINE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  16U  April,  1870. 

No  one  is  a  poet  if  he  is  not  so  in  both  kinds,  which 
are  Force  and  Grace.  I  have  always  fancied  that  this 
was  the  meaning  of  the  twin  peaks  of  Parnassus.  You 
are  capable,  my  young  fellow-poet,  of  flitting  from  one 
summit  to  the  other.  After  Les  fetes  galantes,  a 
charming  book,  you  will  give  us  Les  vaincus,  a  sturdy 
book. 

Your  noble  mind  is  full  of  promise.  Emotion,  tears, 
sympathy,  this  is  the  point  which  your  young  and  lofty 
talent  will  reach,  after  so  much  admirable  poetry.  To 
be  inspired  is  a  fine  thing  ;  to  be  moved  is  great. 

You  know  that  I  told  you  your  fortune  at  Brussels 
and  said  that  this  would  be  your  future.  You  are  one 
of  the  first,  one  of  the  most  attractive,  one  of  the 
strongest,  in  the  new  sacred  legion  of  poets  which  I 
hail  and  which  I  love,  I  the  dreamy  old  dweller  in  the 
wilderness. 

What  a  number  of  delicate  and  ingenious  things  in 


TO  PAUL  MEURICE.  229 

that  pretty  little  book,  Les  fetes  galantes  !  "  These 
shells  of  the  seashore  ! "  What  a  gem  the  last  line 
is  !  I  send  you  my  best  wishes  for  success,  and  a  cor- 
dial shake  of  the  hand. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 
exx. 

To  M.  D'ALTON-SHEE. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  2d  August,  1870. 

MY  DEAR  D' ALTON,  —  I  quite  agree  with  you.  A 
solution  must  be  found.  At  a  given  moment  civiliza- 
tion, with  revolution  for  its  mouthpiece,  must  stop  the 
combatants.  I  wish  to  see  France  have  the  Rhine,  be- 
cause it  is  necessary  to  form,  both  materially  and  intel- 
lectually, as  strong  a  French  group  as  possible,  to  make 
head  against  the  German  group  in  the  parliament  of 
the  United  States  of  Europe,  and  impose  the  French 
language  on  the  European  federation. 

The  United  States  of  Europe  speaking  German 
would  mean  a  delay  of  three  hundred  years.  A  delay, 
that  is  to  say,  a  step  backward.  When  I  see  you,  I 
will  develop  this  idea.  But  nothing  through  Bona- 
parte !  nothing  from  this  frightful  war  ! 

cxxi. 

To  PAUL  MEURICE. 

BRUSSELS,  I9th  August,  1870. 

DEAR  MEURICE,  —  I  am  sending  you  this  telegram  : 
"  I  am  returning  as  a  national  guard  of  Paris.  I  shall 
arrive  on  the  21st  of  August."  But  I  am  told  that 
you  will  not  get  it,  so  I  write  to  you  as  well.  Your 
letter  arrived  at  Guernsey  after  I  had  left,  and  reached 
me  here  to-day  at  two  o'clock.  We  went  at  once, 


230  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

Charles  and  I,  to  the  Foreign  Office.  I  declared  that  I 
did  not  recognize  the  French  Empire,  that  I  submitted, 
by  constraint  and  under  compulsion,  to  the  abusive 
formality  of  the  passport,  and  I  gave  my  name.  There- 
upon they  sent  for  the  minister,  who  was  not  at  the 
office.  His  immediate  substitute,  with  a  rosette  in  his 
buttonhole,  came  instead,  was  very  polite,  and  asked  my 
leave  to  begin  by  saluting  the  great  poet  of  the  cen- 
tury. I  replied  with  courtesy  to  the  man  of  the  world, 
and  I  repeated  my  protest  with  firmness  to  the  official 
by  calling  on  him  to  deliver  me  a  passport. 

He  hesitated.  I  said  :  I  wish  to  be  nothing  more  in 
France  than  one  of  the  national  guard.  He  bowed. 
Charles  said  :  And  so  do  I.  He  promised  us  passports, 
but  asked  my  permission  not  to  send  them  till  this 
evening.  That  is  how  matters  stand. 

You  approve  of  what  I  have  done,  do  you  not  ?  I 
want  to  return  to*  France,  to  return  to  Paris,  openly, 
simply,  as  a  national  guard,  with  my  two  sons  at  my 
side.  I  shall  enroll  myself  in  the  district  where  I  take 
up  my  abode,  and  I  shall  go  to  the  ramparts  with  my 
rifle  on  my  shoulder. 

All  this  without  prejudice  to  my  duty  in  other  re- 
spects. I  want  no  share  of  power,  but  I  want  my  full 
share  of  danger. 

My  gentle  and  intrepid  friend,  what  happiness  to  do 
one's  duty  by  your  side  ! 


TO  PAUL  MEURICE.  231 

CXXII. 
To  PAUL  MEURICE. 

BRUSSELS,  26th  August,  1870. 

DEAR  MEURICE,  —  We  are  on  the  lookout ;  the 
refugees  are  conferring  together ;  the  situation,  which 
was  clear,  is  becoming  obscure.  No  news  from  out- 
side. The  two  marshals,  MacMahon  and  Bazaine,  jeal- 
ous, perhaps,  of  one  another,  looking  for  and  not  find- 
ing each  other,  and  MacMahon  putting  the  emperor 
back  into  the  saddle.  As  for  the  Prussians,  hesitating 
advance,  slow  progress  ;  fear  of  the  trap  laid  for  them ; 
to  sum  up,  nothing  decisive  as  yet.  In  France,  unsat- 
isfactory symptoms;  the  Empress  reappearing  on  the 
scene  ;  the  Right  raising  their  heads ;  Baroche,  Rouher, 
and  Persigny  back  again ;  Trochu  ridiculed  by  the 
Bonapartist  papers,  and  losing  prestige.  Probable 
jealousy,  too,  in  that  quarter;  Palikao  hates  Trochu. 
The  Republican  papers  are  not 'coming  out  again.  A 
coup  d'etat  is  even  talked  of  as  probable. 

It  is  evident  that  a  decisive  battle,  victory  or  defeat, 
Jena  or  Rosbach,  will  clear  the  ground.  France  is 
entitled  to  victory  ;  the  Empire  ought  to  fall.  Which 
will  God  choose  ? 

I  shall  not  make  up  my  mind  until  the  situation 
clears.  In  case  of  a  Rosbach,  I  shall  go  to  Paris  at 
once,  for  the  danger  may  be  great,  and  I  feel  that  I 
belong  alike  to  Europe  and  to  Paris.  To  protect  Paris 
with  a  living  rampart  will  be  the  duty  of  all.  In  case 
of  a  Bonapartist  victory  and  a  coup  d'etat,  I  shall 
gather  my  family  around  me  at  Hauteville  House ;  that 
is  to  say,  that  I  offer  you  as  well  as  Auguste  hospi- 
tality there.  In  the  mean  while  ...  we  wait. 


232  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

CXXIII. 

To  PAUL  MEURICE. 

BRUSSELS,  1st  September,  1870. 

They  tell  me  not  to  wear  myself  out ;  to  keep  myself 
for  the  decisive  moment ;  but  will  this  decisive  mo- 
ment come  ?  Your  noble,  tender  letter  has  just  reached 
me,  and  moves  me  deeply.  You  end  with  a  question. 
I  cannot  intrust  my  reply  to  the  post,  but  Jules  Claretie 
will  give  it  you  by  word  of  mouth.  He  has  been  here 
since  yesterday;  he  lunched  and  dined  with  me.  On 
his  return  to  Paris  he  will  tell  you  what  I  said.  I  like, 
and  so  do  you,  this  young  fellow  who  has  such  fine 
qualities  of  mind  and  heart.  He  will  repeat  my  words 
to  you.  You  will  see  how  far  I  am  ready,  but  I  intend 
to  go  to  Paris  only  in  one  contingency  and  for  one 
object,  heroic  indeed,  Paris  summoning  the  Revolution 
to  the  rescue.  In  that  case  I  shall  come ;  otherwise  I 
stay  here.1 

Undoubtedly  I  have  confidence  in  the  final  result. 
I  have  never  believed  in  France  more  than  at  the  pre- 
sent moment.  She  will  accomplish  her  mission,  the  con- 
tinental republic,  and  then  dissolve  in  it.  From  this 
war  can  only  come  the  end  of  all  wars,  and  out  of  this 
fearful  clash  of  monarchies  can  only  spring  the  United 
States  of  Europe.  You  will  see  them ;  I  shall  not. 
Why  ?  Because  I  predicted  them.  I  was  the  first  to 
utter,  on  the  17th  of  July,  1851  (amid  cries  of  de- 
rision), this  phrase :  The  United  States  of  Europe. 
Therefore  I  shall  be  shut  out  from  them.  Never  did  a 
Moses  see  the  promised  land. 

1  Victor  Hugo  left  Brussels  for  Paris  on  the  5th  of  September,  just 
after  the  Republic  had  been  proclaimed. 


TO  PAUL  MEURICE.  233 

At  the  present  moment  to  be  a  democrat  is  to  be  a 
patriot ;  to  defend  Paris  is  to  defend  the  world.  Homo 
sum  ;  I  defend  Paris. 

Your  letter  brought  tears  to  my  eyes.  How  you 
love  me  and  how  I  love  you  !  V. 

Charles,  Claretie,  and  Frederic  are  just  starting  for 
Virton.     Fighting  is  going  on  near  there,  at  Carign 
They  are  going  to  see  what  they  can  of  the 


IV.     AFTER  THE  FALL  OF  THE  EMPIRE. 

1870-1882. 


I. 

To  GENERAL  TROCHU. 

PARIS,  25th  September,  1870. 

GENERAL,  —  An  old  man  is  of  small  account,  but 
example  is   something.     I  wish  to  go  where  there  is 
danger,  and  to  go  unarmed.     I  am  told  that  a  permit 
signed  by  you  is  necessary.     I  beg  you  to  send  it  me. 
Faithfully  yours, 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

n. 

To  PAUL  MEURICE. 

BORDEAUX,  18th  February,  1871. 

DEAR  MEURICE,  —  This  is  my  first  spare  moment, 
and  I  devote  it  to  you,  to  Mme.  Meurice,  and  to  Au- 
guste  Vacquerie.  Ah,  how  I  miss  you  all !  My  heart 
misses  you,  my  conscience  misses  you,  my  mind  misses 
you.  Never  have  I  felt  the  want  of  you  so  much  as 
just  now  when  you  are  no  longer  with  me. 

I  am  not  sure  if  this  letter  will  reach  you.  The 
vagaries  of  the  Prussians  are  as  difficult  to  foresee  as 
to  set  bounds  to.  Here  we  are  at  last.  A  trying  jour- 
ney. Victor  has  written  and  told  you  about  it.  We 
arrived  on  the  14th  at  two  o'clock ;  no  rooms  to  be 


236  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

had ;  all  the  hotels  full.  At  ten  o'clock  at  night  we 
did  not  know  where  we  should  sleep.  At  last  we  have 
a  roof  over  our  heads,  and  even  kindly  hosts. 

Now,  between  you  and  me,  the  situation  is  frightful. 
The  Chamber  is  beyond  belief ;  we  are  a  minority  of 
50  to  700.  It  is  1815  added  to  1851  (alas !  the  same 
figures,  with  a  slight  change  in  their  order).  They 
began  by  refusing  to  listen  to  Garibaldi,  who  took  his 
departure.  We  think  —  Louis  Blanc,  Schoelcher,  and 
I  —  that  we,  too,  shall  come  to  that  at  last. 

There  will  probably  be  nothing  to  fall  back  on  in 
face  of  the  crushing  majorities  in  prospect  but  a  whole- 
sale resignation  of  the  Left,  supported  by  reasons.  This 
would  rankle  in  the  Assembly,  and  probably  be  its  death- 
blow. We  have  a  meeting  of  the  Left  every  evening. 
Louis  Blanc  and  I  make  tremendous  efforts  to  form  it 
into  a  group.  A  great  deal  of  unanimity  and  strict 
discipline  would  enable  us,  perhaps,  to  make  a  fight  of 
it.  But  shall  we  obtain  this  unanimity  ?  Not  a  single 
paper  on  our  side.  We  are  in  the  air ;  no  point  of 
support.  The  Rappel,  if  published  here,  would  be  of 
immense  service.  One  of  you  ought  to  come.  The 
situation  must  be  seen  to  be  understood.  In  Paris  you 
have  no  idea  of  it. 

How  far  off  are  the  delightful  days  spent  in  your 
hospitable  house  !  The  bombs  were  bursting  over  my 
head,  but  I  was  near  your  heart. 

19th  February. 

I  add  a  few  lines  in  haste.  You  know  that  the 
people  of  Bordeaux  gave  me  a  splendid  ovation  the  day 
after  my  arrival.  Fifty  thousand  men  on  the  Grande 


TO  PAUL  MEURICE.  237 

Place  shouted  :  Vive  Victor  Hugo  !  The  next  day  the 
Assembly  lined  the  square  with  infantry,  cavalry,  and 
artillery.  As  I  had  cried,  Vive  la  Repiiblique  !  and  as 
fifty  thousand  voices  had  repeated  the  cry,  the  Assem- 
bly trembled.  It  declared  itself  insulted  and  threat- 
ened. However,  I  have  not  raised  any  objection.  I 
reserve  myself  for  the  decisive  moment. 

This  view  is  shared  by  the  meeting  of  the  Left, 
which  includes  Louis  Blanc,  Schoelcher,  Joigneaux, 
Martin-Bernard,  Langlois,  Lockroy,  Gent,  Brisson,  etc., 
and  which  has  elected  me  its  chairman.  Yesterday 
very  important  questions  were  discussed  :  the  future 
Thiers-Bismarck  treaty,  the  unheard-of  intolerance  of 
the  Assembly,  the  probability  of  a  wholesale  resigna- 
tion. The  Assembly  is  believed  capable  of  refusing  to 
hear  any  speaker  from  the  Left  on  the  treaty  of  peace. 
Needless  to  say,  I  shall  do  all  that  is  required  of  me 
in  that  matter. 

This  morning  the  president  of  the  national  club  of 
Bordeaux  came  to  place  its  rooms  at  my  disposal.  The 
sympathy  with  me  in  the  town  is  very  great.  I  am 
popular  in  the  street  and  unpopular  in  the  Assembly. 
Good.  And  I  embrace  you. 

in. 

PREFECT  to  PAUL  MEURICE,  18,  Rue  de  Valois,  Paris. 

BORDEAUX,  llth  March,  1871,  12.55  A.  M. 
M.  Victor  Hugo  sends  you  the  following  telegram  : 
Terrible   calamity.     Charles   died   this  evening,  the 
13th.     Apoplectic  seizure.     Victor  must  return  im- 
mediately. 


238  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

IV. 
To  PAUL  MEURICE  and  AUGUSTE  VACQTJERIE. 

14th  March,  1871. 

DEAR  FRIENDS,  —  I  cannot  see,  my  eyes  are  full  of 
tears  as  I  write  ;  I  can  hear  Alice's  sobs.  My  heart  is 
shattered.  Charles  is  dead. 

Yesterday  morning  we  had  breakfasted  cheerfully 
together  with  Louis  Blanc  and  Victor.  I  was  giving  a 
farewell  dinner  at  eight  o'clock  that  evening  to  several 
friends  in  the  Lanta  restaurant.  Charles  took  a  cab  to 
drive  there,  giving  orders  to  stop  at  a  cafe  which  he 
mentioned.  He  was  alone  in  the  cab.  On  reaching 
the  cafe  the  driver  opened  the  door  of  the  cab  and 
found  Charles  dead.  He  had  been  seized  with  a  sudden 
congestion  followed  by  hemorrhage.  The  poor  corpse 
was  brought  back  to  us,  and  I  covered  it  with  kisses. 

For  some  weeks  Charles  had  not  been  well.  The 
bronchitis  which  he  caught  doing  duty  as  artilleryman 
during  the  siege  of  Paris  had  become  worse.  We 
meant  to  go  to  Arcachon  to  set  him  up.  He  would 
have  drunk  pine  water.  We  were  looking  forward  to 
spending  a  week  or  two  together  there.  All  this  has 
come  to  an  end. 

Our  dear  old  Charles,  so  kindly,  so  gentle,  with  such 
a  lofty  mind  and  such  great  ability,  is  gone.  I  am 
overwhelmed. 

I  sent  you  a  telegram.  By  the  time  these  few  lines 
reach  you,  I  imagine  Victor  will  be  on  his  way  back 
to  Bordeaux.  I  intend  to  take  Charles  with  me  and 
lay  him  with  my  father  in  Paris,  or  with  his  mother  at 
Villequier. 

Love  me. 


TO  PAUL  MEURICE.  239 

V. 

To  PAUL  MEURICE. 
VIANDEN  (LUXEMBURG),  Friday,  19$  June,  1871. 

Your  letter  !  your  liberty !  We  had  a  flash  of  de- 
light. All  our  little  circle  suddenly  beamed  with  joy 
in  our  deep  mourning  for  ourselves  and  for  the  father- 
land. Oh  !  yes,  come  quick.  We  have  so  much  to 
talk  about.  Victor  is  on  an  excursion,  but  will  come 
back  for  you.  We  shall  all  be  together  again,  at  Vian- 
den,  where  every  step  I  take  reminds  me  of  you ;  the 
exile  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  prisoner.  What 
happiness  to  see  you  again  ! 

I  have  been  hard  at  work.  It  has  all  increased  in 
a  sinister  fashion.  I  think  it  will  make  up  a  volume. 
Paris  combattant  is  now  inadequate.  The  book  will 
be  called  L'annee  terrible.  It  will  begin  with  Turba, 
and,  after  going  through  the  fall  of  the  empire  and 
the  story  of  the  two  sieges,  will  end  with  the  present 
catastrophe,  out  of  which  I  shall  bring  a  prophecy  of 
light. 

Yes,  we  think  it  would  be  well  to  publish  the  Rappel 
again  at  once.  Come,  my  dear  and  tender  counselor. 
Veni,  spiritus !  Mme.  Meurice  has  behaved  admi- 
rably ;  of  course  she  has  !  My  humblest  respects  to 
her.  How  delighted  I  shall  be  to  see  her  !  All  of 
us  here  embrace  you  with  effusion.  Great  mind,  large 
heart,  gentle  brother  and  kind  master,  I  love  you. 

Yes,  I  did  right  in  protesting,  and  I  stopped  the 
cowardly  retreat  of  the  Belgian  government  at  once. 
It  now  admits  the  vanquished  ones.  This  is  why  I 
have  written  of  it  (in  my  final  letter) :  It  expelled  me, 


240  THE  LETTERS   OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

"but  it  obeyed  me.     Have  you  read  that  letter  ?     How 
much  I  have  to  tell  you ! 

I  embrace  you  over  and  over  again.     Come  ! 

VI. 

To  MONSIEUR  DE  SEGUB,  BISHOP. 

HAUTEVILLE  HOUSE,  17 th  September,  1872. 

SIR,  —  I  was  not  aware  of  your  existence. 

I  am  informed  to-day  that  you  do  exist,  and  even 
that  you  are  a  bishop. 

I  believe  it. 

You  have  had  the  goodness"  to  write  the  following 
lines  about  me,  which  have  been  communicated  to 
me:—  ' 

"  Victor  Hugo,  the  great,  the  austere  Victor  Hugo,  the  magnifi- 
cent poet  of  the  democracy  and  of  the  universal  republic,  is  also  a 
poor  man  afflicted  with  a  yearly  income  of  more  than  three  hun- 
dred thousand  francs  [underlined  in  the  text]  ;  some  go  so  far  as 
to  say  five  hundred  thousand  [underlined  in  the  text].  His  infa- 
mous book  Les  Miserables  brought  him  in  five  hundred  thousand 
francs  at  one  stroke.  People  always  forget  to  mention  the  charity 
which  his  large  humanitarian  heart  doubtless  compels  him  to  bestow 
on  his  dear  clients  of  the  working  classes.  He  is  said  to  be  as 
stingy  and  selfish  as  he  is  boastful." 

Then  follow  two  pages  in  the  same  strain  on  Ledru- 
Rollin,  who  is  called  "  an  old  Croesus ; "  on  Rochefort, 
who  was  caught  at  Meaux  with  a  lot  of  'bank-notes  in 
the  lining  of  his  clothes  ;  on  Garibaldi,  whom  you  call 
"  Garibaldi-pacha,"  who  makes  war  without  fighting, 
whose  army  consisted  of  fifteen  thousand  "bandits  as 
brave  as  mice,  and  who  ran  away  carrying  off  our 
millions,  etc.,  etc. 

I  shall  not  waste  my  time  in  telling  you,  sir,  that  in 


TO  DUKE  ALBERT  DE  BROGLIE.       241 

the  ten  lines  quoted  above  there  are  as  many  lies  as 
there  are  words.  You  know  it  already.  I  confine  my- 
self to  noticing  a  literary  criticism  in  the  passage,  the 
epithet  "  infamous  "  applied  to  Les  Miser  ables. 

In  Les  Miser ables  there  is  a  bishop  who  is  good, 
sincere,  humble,  brotherly,  endowed  with  wit  as  well  as 
kindness,  and  who  unites  every  virtue  to  his  sacred  of- 
fice. I  suppose  that  is  why  Les  Miser  ables  is  an  infa- 
mous book.  From  which  it  must  be  inferred  that  Les 
Miserables  would  be  an  admirable  book  if  the  bishop 
were  a  malignant  slanderer,  an  insulter,  a  tasteless  and 
vulgar  writer,  a  low  scribbler  of  the  basest  kind,  a  cir- 
culator of  police-court  scandal,  a  croziered  and  mitred 
liar. 

Would  the  second  bishop  be  more  true  to  life  than 
the  first  ? 

This  question  concerns  you,  sir.  You  are  a  better 
judge  of  bishops  than  I  am. 

VII. 
To  DUKE  ALBERT  DE  BROGLIE. 

AUTEUIL,  YlLLA  MONTMORENCY,  8$  August,  1873. 

MY  DEAR  DUKE  AND  HONORABLE  COLLEAGUE,  —  It 
is  to  the  member  of  the  French  Academy  that  I  write. 
A  step  of  the  gravest  importance  is  on  the  point  of 
being  taken.  One  of  the  most  famous  writers  of  the 
day,  M.  Henri  Rochefort,  condemned  for  a  political 
offense,  is,  so  they  say,  to  be  transported  to  New  Cale- 
donia. All  who  know  M.  Henri  Rochefort  can  testify 
that  his  very  delicate  constitution  will  not  stand  this 
transportation,  and  that  he  will  either  succumb  to  the 

long  and  trying  voyage,  or  be  killed  by  homesickness. 
VOL.  n.          16 


242  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

M.  Henri  Rochefort  is  a  father  of  a  family,  and  leaves 
three  children  behind  him,  one  a  girl  of  seventeen. 

The  sentence  passed  on  M.  Henri  Rochefort  affects 
his  liberty  only,  the  mode  of  carrying  it  out  threatens 
his  life. 

Why  Noumea  ?  The  Sainte-Marguerite  islands  would 
be  enough.  The  sentence  does  not  require  Noumea. 
By  detention  on  the  Sainte-Marguerite  islands,  the  sen- 
tence would  be  executed  and  not  aggravated.  Trans- 
portation to  New  Caledonia  is  an  exaggeration  of  the 
penalty  inflicted  on  M.  Henri  Rochefort.  The  penalty 
is  commuted  into  a  sentence  of  death.  I  call  your  at- 
tention to  this  novel  species  of  commutation. 

The  day  when  France  hears  that  the  grave  has  opened 
to  receive  this  brilliant  and  courageous  man  will  be  a 
day  of  mourning  for  her. 

A  writer  is  concerned,  and  an  original  and  uncom- 
mon one.  You  are  a  Minister  and  an  Academician  ; 
your  two  duties  agree  here  and  assist  one  another. 
You  would  share  the  responsibility  of  the  catastrophe 
which  is  foreseen  and  foretold ;  you  can  and  you  ought 
to  interfere ;  you  would  honor  yourself  by  taking  this 
generous  initiative,  and,  apart  from  all  political  opinions 
and  passions,  in  the  name  of  letters,  to  which  you  and 
I  belong,  I  ask  you,  my  dear  colleague,  to  protect  M. 
Henri  Rochefort  at  this  critical  moment,  and  to  prevent 
a  departure  which  would  mean  his  death. 


TO  GEORGE  SAND.  243 

VIII. 

To  JULES  CLARETIE. 

BRUSSELS,  31st  August,  [1873]. 

I  thank  you  for  having  enabled  me  to  read  your  fine 
article  on  the  war,  and  your  patriotic  and  stirring  book. 
A  breath  of  progress  animates  your  generous  mind.  A 
striking  drama  is  that  and  nothing  more;  if  exalted 
ideas  on  man  and  society  are  woven  into  it,  it  becomes 
a  great  work. 

You  are  capable  of  combating  the  reaction  encour- 
aged by  the  Empire,  and  reappearing  to-day,  in  litera- 
ture as  well  as  in  politics,  under  such  pseudonyms  as 
good  order,  good  taste,  etc.,  which  are  lies.  .  .  . 

The  words  underlined  were  recently  written  by  me, 
and  have  made  all  the  absolutist  papers,  French,  Bel- 
gian, and  English,  grind  their  teeth  with  rage,  a  success 
which  encourages  me  and  will  encourage  you  as  well. 

Go  on.  You  have  a  brave  heart  as  well  as  a  charm- 
ing mind.  You  have  courage  and  talent ;  that  is  to 
say,  the  ladder  for  mounting  to  the  attack,  and  the 
sword  for  forcing  your  way  into  the  fortress. 

IX. 

To  GEORGE  SAND.1 

1st  January,  [1874]. 

I  am  overwhelmed,  but  not  prostrated.  Your  words 
stir  my  heart.  You  are  like  an  elder  sister  to  me. 
Those  who  have  suffered  know  how  to  console.  You 
prove  it,  you  who  are  so  strong  and  so  gentle. 

1  After  the  death  of  Francois- Victor  Hugo. 


244  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 


To  ALPHONSE  KABR. 

PARIS,  8th  January,  1874. 

I  am  touched  by  the  kind  words  you  write  to  me. 
Never  having  wronged  you,  I  could  not  account  for  the 
hostility  of  which  I  heard  sometimes.  It  was  bound  to 
disappear.  There  was  evidently  a  misunderstanding. 
To-day  we  are  friends  again.  I  am  glad  of  it,  if  such 
a  word  can  be  used  in  the  midst  of  a  grief  like  mine. 

I  am  now  going  through  one  of  the  most  painful 
ordeals  of  my  life.  On  this  occasion,  you  advise  me  to 
give  up  politics.  Alas !  what  I  ought  to  give  up,  and 
what  I  am  giving  up,  is  everything. 

What  you  style  "  politics  "  has  always  appeared  some- 
what vague  to  me.  For  my  part,  I  have  endeavored, 
to  the  best  of  my  ability,  to  bring  the  moral  and  the 
human  question  into  what  is  called  politics.  From  a 
moral  point  of  view,  I  fought  against  Louis  Bonaparte ; 
from  a  human  point  of  view,  I  raised  my  voice  on  be- 
half of  the  oppressed  of  all  countries  and  of  all  parties. 
I  think  I  have  done  well.  My  conscience  tells  me  I 
am  right.  If  the  future  were  to  prove  me  wrong,  I 
should  be  sorry  for  the  future. 

Dear  old  friend,  great  sorrows  are  the  meeting-place 
of  kind  hearts.  My  hand  presses  yours. 


TO  GEORGE  SAND.  245 

XI. 

To  MLLE.  LOUISE  BERTIN,  Quai  Conti. 

16th  January,  1874. 

MADEMOISELLE, — You  were  kind  to  these  poor  dear 
things,  and  they  were  veiy  fond  of  you.  Now  the 
darkness  has  fallen.  All  is  gone.1 

Receive  the  assurance  of  my  respect. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 

XII. 

To  GEORGE  SAND. 

PARIS,  Wth  June,  1875. 

You  dedicate  that  beautiful  book  Valentine  tq  me  ! 
How  can  I  express  my  emotion  ? 

As  a  creator  of  masterpieces,  you  are  the  first  among 
women  ;  you  have  this  unique  position,  —  you  are  the 
first  woman,  from  the  point  of  view  of  art,  not  only  of 
our  time,  but  of  all  time ;  you  are  the  most  powerful 
and  the  most  charming  writer  that  has  been  vouchsafed 
to  your  sex.  You  are  an  honor  to  your  sex  and  to  our 
country.  Allow  me  to  bow  the  knee  before  you,  and 
to  kiss  the  hand  which  has  written  so  many  exquisite 
and  noble  books. 

Your  books  are  of  the  kind  which  give  light  and 
warmth  ;  just  now  we  are  threatened  with  an  unac- 
countable increase  of  darkness  ;  radiance  such  as  yours 
is  necessary ;  you  set  a  good  example.  I  love  our  age 
and  I  feel  that  it  has  need  of  light.  I  thank  you  for 
being  such  a  lofty  soul. 

1  Of  Victor  Hugo's  four  children  three,  Le'opoldine,  Charles,  and 
Francois- Victor,  were  dead,  and  the  fourth,  Adele,  had  gone  out  of  her 
mind. 


246  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

XIII. 

To  THE  COMMITTEE  FOB  ERECTING  A  STATUE  TO  LAMARTINE. 

PARIS,  23d  January,  1876. 

France  witnessed  the  appearance  of  a  great  poet  in 
1820,  and  of  a  great  citizen  in  1848. 

This  poet,  this  citizen,  this  great  man  is  Lamartine. 
I  subscribe  to  his  statue. 

XIV. 

To  THE  FREEMASONS  OF  LYONS. 

PARIS,  15th  April,  1877. 

An  eloquent  appeal  has  been  addressed  to  me.  I 
reply  to  it. 

My  friends  among  the  Freemasons  of  Lyons  are  right 
in  counting  on  me.  The  philosopher  is  a  fighter,  the 
thinker  is  a  combatant ;  but  the  former  fights  for  fra- 
ternity, the  latter  for  peace.  As  for  me,  the  day  when 
I  cease  to  struggle  I  shah1  have  ceased  to  live. 

Governments,  which  are  all  monarchical  at  the  pre- 
sent moment,  have  brought  us,  the  peoples,  into  the 
following  predicament,  —  misery  at  home  and  war 
abroad.  On  the  one  side  the  workman  without  work, 
on  the  other  the  soldier  starting  for  the  battlefield. 
Hence  the  problem  to  be  solved,  a  problem  which 
forces  itself  on  the  thinking  mind  and  which  contains 
the  whole  future  of  civilization  :  to  make  work  for  the 
workman,  and  to  take  it  away  from  the  soldier ;  in 
other  words,  to  substitute  the  work  of  life  for  the  work 
of  death. 

The  innumerable  questions  which  rise  tragically 
around  us  are  all,  at  bottom,  the  same  question.  It 


TO  ALFRED  TENNYSON.  247 

would  seem  as  if  a  mysterious  need  of  reciprocal  par- 
don were  in  the  air.  One  is  tempted  to  exclaim  :  Let 
us  forgive  one  another.  To  forgive  is  to  love.  Gov- 
ernments which  wage  war,  and  governments  which  do 
not  pardon,  are  all  guilty  of  the  same  crime ;  want  of 
clemency  is  a  form  of  war,  battles  are  executions.  To 
make  peace  is  to  show  mercy  to  mothers;  to  show 
mercy  is  to  make  peace  among  men.  Let  us  not  weary, 
then,  of  holding  high  aloft  this  double  standard  amid 
the  wrath  and  the  tumult :  Kepublic  abroad  !  amnesty 
at  home  ! 

xv. 

To  LECONTE  DE  LISLE. 

9th  June,  1877. 
MY  EMINENT  AND  DEAR  COLLEAGUE, I  have  Voted 

for  you  three  times,  I  would  have  done  so  ten  times. 

Continue  your  noble  labors,  and  publish  your  lofty 
works,  which  are  one  of  the  glories  of  our  age. 

In  the  presence  of  men  like  you,  an  Academy,  and 
especially  the  French  Academy,  should  think  of  this : 
that  they  have  no  need  of  it,  and  that  it  cannot  do 
without  them. 

XVI. 

To  ALFRED  TENNYSON.1 

PARIS,  June,  1877. 

I  read  your  splendid  lines  with  emotion.  It  is  a 
reflection  of  glory  that  you  send  me.  How  should  I 
not  love  England,  which  produces  men  like  you  !  the 
England  of  Wilberforce,  the  England  of  Milton  and 
of  Newton  !  the  England  of  Shakespeare ! 

1  Tennyson  had  published  a  sonnet  to  Victor  Hugo  in  the  Nineteenth 
Century. 


248  THE  LETTERS  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

France  and  England  are  a  single  nation  to  me,  as 
truth  and  liberty  are  a  single  light.  I  believe  in  the 
human  unity  as  I  believe  in  the  divine  unity. 

XVII. 

To  THE  MEMBERS  OF  THE  FREE  AND  UNSECTARIAN  CONGRESS 
OP  EDUCATION. 

PARIS,  16th  October,  1879. 

MY  DEAR  FELLOW-CITIZENS,  —  You  offer  me  your 
honorary  presidentship.  I  accept  it.  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  attend  your  meetings,  I  fear,  but  I  ardently 
desire  the  triumph  of  your  ideas,  which  are  mine  as 
weU. 

The  rising  generation  is  the  future.  You  instruct 
it,  so  you  prepare  the  future. 

This  preparation  is  useful,  this  instruction  is  neces- 
sary. To  create  the  youth  of  to-day  is  to  make  the 
man  of  to-morrow.  The  man  of  to-morrow  is  the  uni- 
versal Republic.  The  Republic  means  union,  unity, 
harmony,  light,  work  producing  well-being,  the  sup- 
pression of  conflicts  between  man  and  man  and  between 
nation  and  nation,  the  end  of  inhuman  exploitation,  the 
abolition  of  the  law  of  death  and  the  establishment  of 
the  law  of  life. 

Citizens,  these  thoughts  are  in  your  minds,  and  I  am 
but  the  mouthpiece  of  them ;  the  time  of  the  terrible 
and  sanguinary  necessities  of  revolution  has  gone  by ; 
for  what  remains  to  be  done  the  inflexible  law  of 
progress  is  sufficient.  Besides,  let  us  set  our  minds  at 
rest;  everything  is  on  our  side  in  the  great  battles 
which  remain  to  be  fought,  battles  the  evident  necessity 
of  which  does  not  disturb  the  peace  of  mind  of  the 


TO  THE  EMPEROR  OF  AUSTRIA.  249 

thinker;  battles  in  which  revolutionary  energy  will 
equal  monarchical  desperation ;  battles  in  which  force 
allied  with  right  will  overthrow  violence  allied  with 
usurpation;  splendid,  glorious,  enthusiastic,  decisive 
battles,  the  issue  of  which  is  not  doubtful,  and  which 
will  be  the  Tolbiacums,  the  Hastingses,  and  the  Auster- 
litzes  of  the  democracy. 

Citizens,  the  period  for  the  dissolution  of  the  old 
world  has  arrived.  The  ancient  despotisms  are  con- 
demned by  the  law  of  Providence ;  time,  the  grave- 
digger,  working  away  in  the  dark,  casts  the  earth  over 
them ;  each  day  as  it  falls  thrusts  them  further  back 
into  nothingness. 

The  Republic  is  the  future ! 

XVIII. 

To  THE  EMPEROR  OF  AUSTRIA. 

12th  December,  1882. 

I  have  received,  in  the  course  of  two  days,  eleven 
telegraphic  messages  from  the  universities  and  the 
academies  of  Italy.  All  of  them  plead  for  the  life  of 
a  condemned  man. 

The  Emperor  of  Austria  has  a  pardon  to  grant  at 
this  moment. 

Let  him  sign  this  pardon ;  it  will  be  a  great  act. 


14  DAY  USE 

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